


Silver Lining

by Midnight30Sadness



Series: Silver Lining, Stormy Clouds [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Beta Bruce Banner, Beta Clint Barton, Beta Pepper Potts, Bigotry & Prejudice, Childbirth, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mpreg, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Natasha Romanov, Omega Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers (2012), Pregnant Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, associated with a/b/o, bucky is tagged but he doesn't actually appear, but he is very important, mentions of Xenophobia, there are probably more tags but i cant remember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25977541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight30Sadness/pseuds/Midnight30Sadness
Summary: "Perhaps everything has culminated to this. The Depression, his parents, Doctor Erskine, the serum, the war, the ice and the Avengers. For some reason, every single point in his life, every decision and crossroad and dead end have come for this.For a plus sign on a white stick."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Silver Lining, Stormy Clouds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106306
Comments: 21
Kudos: 254





	Silver Lining

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so this isn't my first time writing fanfiction but it is the first time i'm posting it. i'm really nervous, but i felt it was time to start putting my work out there i guess....  
> i wrote this a few years ago, and my opinions on some characters have changed as well as characters traits but i like this fic how it is so i didn't change anything  
> also english isn't my native language, so if you see any mistakes or weird grammar, please feel free to tell me :-)
> 
> one thing i have to give a warning about - in this particular world of ABO, all omegas have vaginas and all alphas have penises, no matter if they are male or female. this is because it always bugged me that in a world where omegas and alphas are natural, why would someone need to give birth through their ass???? it's really confusing to me so i kind of altered it. there are still trans individuals in this universe - alphas who wish they were omegas and so forth - but a man having a vagina or a woman having a penis is kind of the standard for a person of that secondary gender  
> i'm sorry if this isn't making any sense, i just wanted to warn people about that.
> 
> so, i hope you enjoy reading!  
> (and please don't drag my ass if its terrible)

* * *

[7th July 2012 – 12 weeks]

Steve is numb. He can’t feel anything – can’t hear or see or smell or touch. He can’t tell if it is day or night, if it’s raining or not, if the TV is too loud, if a shirt’s fabric is too coarse. He is numb.

The days have been bleeding together for a while now, distorted and distended and odd. It feels like one continuous moment instead of separate ones. Ever since he woke up in this new century, nothing feels right. Not the city or the people or the clothes or the technology or even the weather. The _world_ doesn’t feel right.

So, he is thankful that he feels nothing right now.

His mind is filled with places – Brooklyn, the orphanage, Europe, the Valkyrie. With people – his ma, Bucky, Peggy, Doctor Erskine, Howard, the Commandos, the USO girls, Senator Brandt, Colonel Phillips, Zola, the Red Skull. With feelings – hope, friendship, despair, panic, fear, so much love but so much pain.

Nothing feels right and everything feels wrong.

His mother had always told him that every grey cloud has its silver lining. Maybe in this huge, dark, thunderous cloud that is his life, _this_ is his silver lining. Maybe _this_ is his new hope, his haven, his salvation. His light in the midst of some place filled with shadows.

Perhaps everything has culminated to this. The Depression, his parents, Doctor Erskine, the serum, the war, the ice and the Avengers. For some reason, every single point in his life, every decision and crossroad and dead end have come for this.

For a plus sign on a white stick.

* * *

[14th July 2012 – 13 weeks]

Steve tries not to think about it, not to look or touch, because thinking and looking and touching makes it real, and he doesn’t want it to be real. He knows it’s selfish and petty and childish, but he can’t make himself realize that this is his life. Sometimes, when insomnia or nightmares keep him awake at night, he allows himself a thought, a look, a touch. An acceptance. But in the harsh daylight it all wastes away as he once again finds that he is alone.

So, he stays inside. His apartment is in Brooklyn, three bedrooms, more space than he needs but Steve never had a good house and he had some money saved from the Army. It is light and spacious, nothing compared to his old, dark and crammed, apartment with his ma.

The building is nice and the block is quiet, calm. He hasn’t met any on his neighbors since his work schedule isn’t exactly normal but he knows that there are five stories, two apartments in each floor. There is a fire escape in the back of the building and Steve has cataloged each entrance and exit in case of an emergency.

A soldier’s habit.

And each morning, he’ll get up, go to the bathroom and try to ignore the protruding roundness of his lower abdomen. And each day, he’ll pray for something, anything that means that this isn’t happening, means that this isn’t his life.

But it is. And Steve isn’t a quitter. He doesn’t back down.

So, he starts to make calculations. Tries to figure out how far along he is without needing to go to an actual doctor. The last time he had sex was in early March of 1945. About 67 years ago. During the deadliest war in the history of mankind. God, he definitely had someone out for him. That means that he went into the ice like this. That he fought the Red Skull and the Chitauri like this. That he lost Bucky like this – pregnant with his child.

His fingers tremble when he reaches a hand up to brush away the wetness in his cheeks. His heart is a low murmur in his chest, echoing in his ribcage slowly and weakly, only doing the limit work to keep him alive, to keep him functioning and allow him to pass off as a human being. It does nothing else. Only works and stretches itself to the limit. Just like Steve.

His body is beyond tense in this bed, tight and rigid. He can’t relax because this isn’t his bed, or his bedroom, or his apartment, or his century. This isn’t his time and he has never felt more out of place, even when he was a sick, frail Omega among strong, healthy Alphas.

He makes himself sleep – closes his eyes and dreams of war and blood and fire.

* * *

[21st July 2012 – 14 weeks]

Steve gets called on a mission.

He still hasn’t told anyone, has barely even accepted it himself. But he is getting there. Thinking and looking and touching isn’t hard anymore, it isn’t a task or a job or a burden. It’s normal – instinctive and fluid and relaxed. Free of pain and sorrow and sadness. It’s his silver lining, his light.

But then there is a mission and the Avengers are assembled and he only realizes what this implies when he is in the Quinjet. The team has been debriefed. It was a simple enough mission – come in, eliminate the terrorist cell, find out their plans, get out. Quick and clean and easy. Steve should have known it was never that simple.

They fall into a trap. The night is quiet in the Russian countryside and the moonlight is the only thing illuminating their way. One the difficulties about the complex is the open field around it, stretching for about six hundred and fifty feet, which is roughly two football fields, before becoming a dense forest. A ground attack is risky since they can be spotted at any time but Romanoff and Barton are master spies and Steve is a soldier. They can move discreetly. Stark is on air support just in case something happens and Banner is waiting in the jet. The Hulk will just cause a mess.

So, they go and the strategizing goes to hell. The terrorists are tipped off or they make a mistake, but either way, they are seen.

And it isn’t until Steve is in the middle of fighting a squadron that he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t have come along. But there is a piercing pain in his side and he looks down in time to see red quickly blossoming across his abdomen. He only has time to see his attacker get shot right through the head before the world tips and he collapses.

The last thing he sees is red hair and the last thing in his mind is the bump in his belly.

Then he knows no more.

*

He wakes up to a white room. There is a beeping sound somewhere to his left and his body is heavy. He is floating around a blurring world of brown hair and grey eyes, soft touches and gentle whispers. Bucky. But Bucky isn’t here and he disappears like dust in the wind.

Then reality is crashing down on him, the happy visage breaking like a mirror and the pieces lodging themselves in his heart. He is fully awake in a second, lurching upright and swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat and blinking away the suddenly spinning room.

He looks down. He is dressed in a hospital gown, flimsy material covering him and making his skin itch. He ignores the rapid beeping to his left, knowing that his heart is hammering in his ribcage and brings his hand up, setting it in his midsection as pain flares up his torso.

Memories slam into him and he remembers – the mission and the ambush, the gunshot. Panic washes over his body, dark and powerful, and his hands shake almost uncontrollably as he drifts them lower, over his bandaged upper abdomen to the hard flesh of his bump. It’s still there but it doesn’t mean that there is anything inside.

His vision blurs as tears whelm in his eyes. God, what had he done? Is it over? Has he lost his silver lining? Has he lost the last remain of Bucky he has? His throat closes up and he can’t breathe properly even with his serum enhanced lungs. He feels like he has asthma again and chest barely moves, too weak – he’s too weak.

 _You are not enough_. _Everything special about you make out of a bottle_. Colonel Phillips. Tony Stark. They were right. He is nothing. He is worthless and disgusting and pathetic. He is weak and he has just _murdered_ his own baby.

“Rogers, you need to breath.”

There are hands on him, strong and small and capable.

“Rogers! Steve! You need to relax. Just breathe.”

The palms are smooth as they draw circles in his back and he curls on himself more, hiding behind a wall of muscle as if it will protect him.

“C’mon, that’s it. Slow, deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Easy.”

He hears the instructions over the buzzing of his own ears and complies. Soon enough there is air rushing in and out of his lungs, chest rising and falling accordingly. The hand is still rubbing his back and the other is clasped in his own.

He eyes the pale skin and the callous covering the index finger especially. He has seen that before in Bucky. These are the hands of a shooter. His gaze travels upwards to find calm green eyes watching him. Romanoff is still in battle gear, guns strapped to her thighs and the Bite around her wrists. She appears deadly. Yet when she looks at him he doesn’t see the Black Widow – doesn’t see the assassin or the spy. He sees a woman, calm and cool and collected, focused and confident in her abilities.

“Do I have something on my face?” She quips, and he abruptly averts his eyes, blushing as he realizes he has been caught staring at her.

“Sorry. I… Just…” he shakes his head and tries to ignore the tight ball of ice that has settled in his heart.

They are silent, Romanoff observing him and him observing the bedspread until she finally talks. And somehow, she knows exactly what he wants to hear.

“Your baby is alive.”

He swallows the relief bubbling in his throat, the ice melting away like it was never there to begin with.

Romanoff pulls back, both hands disappearing from his body and he nearly makes a noise because it has been a while since someone has touched him.

“You’re about three months along. The fetus is completely healthy.” She carries on, arms now crossed at the chest, feet spread shoulder width and the position only brings more attention to her hips and bust. “Didn’t really picture you as an Omega.” She comments, voice nonchalant and casual, so much so that anyone would say she’s asking about the weather.

“Nobody does.” He quips and that gets him a quirked little smirk that pulls at one corner of her mouth. Sort of like a smile.

“You should have told us.” And she almost sounds hurt but her eyes are firm and, for a second, he can’t answer.

Until he does. “I didn’t believe it at first. Couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was actually pregnant. It just seemed impossible. But then I started to get used to it. Started imagining life with a baby. Until the mission. I was sure I’d lost it. This tiny thing that is the only connection to my past.” That is more than he wants her to know but the words just stumble from his mouth and he can’t stop them.

Natasha doesn’t speak for a while, simply watching him, analyzing him so much he feels stripped bare under her gaze, naked and vulnerable. He swallows and takes a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his hand into a fist, fingers bending under his ministrations. It’s a nervous habit.

“We’ll help.” She speaks and he raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Clint and I. He’s a sucker for babies, can never stay away from pregnant people. It’s actually a bit annoying.”

His lips twitch as he fights back a smile. “And you?”

She shrugs. “I have to make sure he doesn’t get you killed.” And then she smiles, one corner of her mouth pulled back and the other curling slightly (later, he would find out that that was her genuine smile, the kind she only showed a few people).

“Thank you.” He says and she nods, red curls bouncing with the motion. Then, she gives his hand one last squeeze and moves out, as silently as she came in.

He watches her go, her body disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. He relaxes back into his bed, his muscles unclenching and he moves his hand to his stomach, one finger pressing down to the hardness beneath.

His mind drifts away, imagining a little blond-haired toddler with a crooked grin running around, grey eyes shining. The image brings a little smile to his face, even as his heart aches as he remembers that Bucky will never meet his child. His legacy. The last thing he left on this Earth before ice swallowed him down and took him from Steve with greedy fingers.

He sleeps and, in his dreams, they are together again. Steve and Bucky and their baby. Their silver lining. Their _light_.

* * *

[28th July 2012 – 15 weeks]

A whole week passes, and Steve is mostly healed. His scar is now a faint pink line in his abdomen, still a bit tender but nothing he can’t handle. He got released from the hospital three days after his talk with Natasha and Tony immediately offered to have Steve move into the Tower. The Omega was hesitant at the begin, not wanting to intrude but he had been quickly assured by the billionaire and Doctor Banner that he wouldn’t impose anything.

And now, Steve is transferring his things into an enormous room at the Tower, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. God, why would he need an entire floor? He doesn’t even have a lot of possessions, so most of the place is unoccupied. Thankfully, Natasha had said that she would use the other room whenever she needed it, instead of just taking an entire floor for herself. Although he wasn’t sure why she’d done it but he was certainly glad she had.

He has just finished putting away everything he currently owns when a glint of silver catches his attention. He walks over to his black duffel bag where it rests on the floor and scoops out the object. Bucky’s dog tags shine, the metal reflecting the light and he bits his lip as he runs his thumb over the raised letters. _Barnes, James B_. Below is his address, blood type, rank and regiment. Next to the two pieces of metal is a ring, a bit dented and worn out, but still together.

He could still remember as clear as if it had been yesterday when Bucky gave it to him. It was two years after they’d become mates, in the middle of October.

It had been uncharacteristically hot, not unbearably so, just enough warmth that they were both sweating and damp, but there had been a gentle breeze that ruffled their hair and cooled their skin whenever it passed. It had been a beautiful day and they had spent it inside Bucky’s parents’ apartment while the rest of the family went to take a walk. They had been simply enjoying each other and Steve remembers that he had been talking about the fact that they would never have babies, since his pre-serum body was too frail and sickly to carry a child to term, when suddenly Bucky took his hands and kissed them. He had said that it didn’t matter if they could have a baby or not, that nothing mattered beside the two of them and their love, and when he was done, he pulled out a ring that used to belong to Steve’s grandmother back in Ireland and then his mother when she had married his father. Now, it was Steve’s. It was a beautiful ring, simple and discreet, completely golden with an inscription on the inside – _until the end of the line_. Steve was not ashamed to say that he had teared up a bit and they had gotten married that day, with Bucky’s family and Steve’s ma there. The next day, as though she had only held on to see her son be happy, Sarah Rogers died from prolonged disease and Steve’s only comfort was the weight of the ring in his finger.

When he got into the army, he had placed it with his dog tags and Bucky had done the same with his own ring (an exact copy of Steve’s along with the inscription). They had each carried it close to their hearts, and then one day, Bucky had given his dog tags to Steve, saying he wanted him to have it. When the blond had wondered why, the Alpha simply replied that he had a strange feeling and wanted to make sure that Steve had something that belonged to him. A day later, Bucky fell from the train and two days after that, Steve crashed the plane, carrying _three_ things that belong to Bucky – his dog tags, his ring and his baby.

Steve blinks rapidly, banishing the tears that whelm up in his eyes, sniffling as he reaches up and removes his own dog tags, placing them inside his bedside table’s drawer, putting Bucky’s in their place around his neck. They weight differently against his chest and he stuffs them down his shirt so they’d stay hidden. This is private, maybe the last few parts of his life that aren’t public knowledge. This is between him and his mate, and only they would know.

JARVIS alerts him that the Avengers are about to have lunch and wonders if Steve will join them. He accepts even if he isn’t that hungry, just for the simple fact that he has to eat, what with his fast metabolism and the baby. He _is_ eating for two, so… At least, he hopes it’s just two. He really doesn’t know what he will do if he is pregnant with twins. He banishes those thoughts before they can grow, instead focusing on wiping his face and appearing like he hasn’t been crying.

The ride to the communal dining room is quick, the elevator descending swiftly and Steve barely has time to compose himself. But he makes sure that his face is nice and smooth when he steps out, finding everyone already gathered around the table.

Bruce looks relaxed (or less tense as he was before) wearing a loose, wrinkled dress shirt and khakis, glasses perched on the end of his nose and curly hair flopping over one side of his forehead. Steve can see the remains of the Hulk in his posture, the tightness of his shoulders and the firmness of his awkward smile. He doesn’t trust himself to relax, don’t trust himself not to lose control. That is something they should work on, trying to figure out a way to either push back the Hulk or be able to calm him when he does come out.

Tony, as usual, is smirking, dressed in a shirt with _AC/DC_ sprawled across the front and jeans. Even though he seems like nothing worries him, there is a certain darkness in his eyes that has been accentuated since he fell through the wormhole. He fakes it well but Steve has had experience with seeing things that aren’t there, searching for signs that something wasn’t right. He had to, with the Howling Commandos, who always played like every was fine when he could hear their nightmares and feel their pain. It simply fined his sense to these things.

Natasha is as cool and placid as ever, her all black ensemble broken by her purple shirt. She is drumming her fingers on the table, seemingly distracted but he is sure that she is hearing everything and cataloging it, if not simply for future use. He has noticed that she doesn’t like to not know, that she has to be constantly on top of things so that she can understand everything around her. He doesn’t know why but they aren’t close enough that he’ll ask, so he leaves it be.

Lastly, there is Clint, dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt open with a grey t-shirt underneath. He looks normal and unassuming, a regular Joe instead of the Avenger Steve knows him as. He seems a lot better since the last time the blond saw him. That haunted look in his eyes as Loki’s hold on his mind disappeared from his system is less visible now. Steve knows that Natasha has been helping him get over it, trying to return to normal live (well, normal to them) as if a god hadn’t played with his brain.

There is another woman there, tall and slender with strawberry blonde hair tied into a ponytail and wearing a white pantsuit, her lips covered in red lipstick. For a moment, he remembers Peggy but he, once again, banishes the thought. He can’t afford to do this, not here and not now. She is talking on her phone, heels clicking against the floor as she walks from one end of the room to the other. She seems kind, freckled face sympathetic and Steve is sure he has seen here before. Then it clicks. This must be Pepper Potts, Tony’s former assistant and now CEO of Stark Industries. Somehow, he imagined a much older and stricter woman, cold and controlled, even if Miss Potts seems on top of whatever situation she is dealing with.

“Cap.” Clint calls and the Omega can sense the worry in his tone. Only then does he realize that he has been standing in the middle of the room, not moving or talking, simply staring. His cheeks heat up and the points of his ears turn pink as he goes to sit down.

Before he can, however, Miss Potts ends her phone call, murmuring something that definitely sounded like a curse to Steve before noticing that he is there. Her tense features smooth back and she smiles, thrusting out a hand to him.

“Captain Rogers, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She smiles kindly and has a strong grip for someone as fine-boned as her, but he has learned a long time ago to never judge a book by its cover.

“Miss Potts, the pleasure is all mine.” He answers, politely just like his ma taught him and her smile gets even bigger until it crinkles the corners of her eyes.

“Please, call me Pepper.” She insists, releasing his hand and moving towards the table, looking over her shoulder to make sure that he is following.

“Then you can call me Steve.” He says as they sit down.

There is food all over the table, but none of it is appetizing to him. So, Steve picks a bit of everything and eats methodically, making sure that everyone sees him eat so they wouldn’t complain later. The conversation picks up after a beat of silence, going around everyone. Steve only talks when spoken to, answering everything and even throwing in his opinion here and there.

He isn’t even paying much attention until Pepper says, “So, Steve, I guess congratulations are in order.”

He tenses before he can help it and looks up at Pepper’s kind eyes. “For what?” He wonders even if he has a suspicion of what she is talking about.

“The baby.” She seems hesitant, obviously noticing his reaction and a frown is settled across her face. She looks around the table, seeking confirmation but no one talks.

Until Steve does. “Thank you, Pepper.” His smile is fake as it stretches his lips and he feels something making his heart cold. Had the Avengers told everyone he is pregnant? Does SHIELD know? Does Fury? Is it common knowledge?

He certainly has nothing against Pepper, but he is still wrapping his head around this, trying to come to terms with this baby and all the things it will bring into his life. He wants to tell people gradually, at his own terms, when he wants and where he wants and how he wants. But apparently that option is gone now. He swallows and feels his stomach growing tight.

“Steve, I…” Pepper starts, looking so guilty that he feels bad for her.

“It’s okay.” He reassures and the lie tastes sour in his tongue. “Just caught me off-guard.” The explanation is thin and fickle and anyone with half a brain would know that he is lying through his teeth, and yet, no one calls him out. They just leave him be, allow him the slip and that annoys him more than anything. He doesn’t need to be coddled or protected or held; he went through all that when he was a skinny and little and sickly, when Alphas were this huge, scary thing, and even then, he wouldn’t back down.

 _You always stand up._ His mother had told him that every single time he asked her why she hadn’t stayed down, why she always stood even when she knew that a beating was coming. Everytime, she would hold him while he sobbed against her shoulder, her nose bleeding or a bruise forming in her eye, and she would say that it was okay, that no matter what, he should always stand up, push back and never run. And she did it, again and again and again. She stood up to her abusive husband, to the misogynistic and sexist Alphas who said that she couldn’t raise a child on her own, to the xenophobes who called her a filthy foreigner because of her birth place, to all those who claimed that the world was no place for a woman, much less an Omega, to every person that doubted her. She rose above them and he couldn’t have been prouder.

And now, here he is, so tired and so lonely and so scared, like a leaf in the wind, going wherever the breeze takes him. This isn’t him. He doesn’t back away, doesn’t make himself look smaller, never lets anyone stomped over him to get what they want. He is Sarah Rogers’ son and she taught him better than this.

Someone touches his arm and his train of thought breaks. He looks to his right and sees Natasha’s concerned gaze as she tried to figure out what he is thinking without making a sound. She is perceptive enough to know.

“ _Chto ne tak s toboy_? (What is wrong with you?)” She murmurs, low enough that the others can’t hear but Steve has enhanced hearing.

So, he answers. “ _Ya prosto dumayu_. (I’m just thinking.)” He doesn’t even realize that he did it in Russian until her eyebrow raises and there is a sudden twinkle in her eyes. She seems oddly pleased with this little piece of information.

“Okay…” Tony drawls, those dark eyes jumping between Steve and Natasha, the expression of his face similar to the one he got when he couldn’t solve a riddle. “Cap, I need to talk to you for a second.”

Steve hesitates before lifting himself off the chair, Natasha’s hand slipping from his forearm. He glances over his shoulder at her and receives a firm nod in return, her eyes softening a bit as she looks at him. He follows Tony to the kitchen, the billionaire immediately going for the pot of coffee and dumping almost half of it on a large cup, downing it in a single gulp. Steve is mildly concerned that he will choke but says nothing. Tony obviously takes his time, sitting down on the benches around the island and even patting the seat next to him.

Steve narrows his eyes as he lowers himself into the seat, his gaze firmly on Tony and the way the Alpha is avoiding it. Something is wrong.

“Stark?” Steve prompts, and the billionaire looks at him then.

“You can call me Tony, you know.”

The Omega nods. “Okay, Tony… What is it?”

Tony meets his eyes, the Alpha in him reaching to the surface when he says. “I scheduled you an appointment with an OB.”

Steve can’t talk for a moment, surprise and disbelief preventing him from speaking. But those feelings waste away and anger replaces them, frustration making his blood boil. “What?” he hisses, seeing Tony flinch a bit at the poisonous tone but standing his grounds.

“It’s today at three pm. I’ll drive you there and we can even go together if you’d like.”

Steve can barely believe that he is hearing this. “Who do you think you are? You have no right to meddle into my life.” He squeezes the marble countertop tightly, his knuckles turning white with the grip.

Tony doesn’t back down. “You are neglecting that kid.” Steve feels like he has been slapped. “You don’t think I noticed right now that you were just pushing your food around. You don’t eat, and I don’t think you are sleeping either.” The last part hits a little too close to home and Steve clenches his jaw.

“It’s none of your business!” He snarls, that temper of his rising and a blush settling high on his cheekbones.

“Maybe not. But I’m not going to let that kid get hurt just because you can’t handle a few setbacks.” Tony is nonchalant, shrugging one shoulder and casually sipping on his coffee.

“ _A few setbacks_?” Steve repeats, shaking his head. “How can you call my life falling apart a few setbacks? Everyone I know is dead or close to dying. I am all alone here! I don’t have anyone. Okay? My mate is dead!” The sentence brings tears to his eyes, ones that he doesn’t bother to wipe away. “And you’re acting like an asshole, trying to control my life.”

Steve doesn’t even wait for Tony’s response, just turns on his heel and is ready to walk away when a hand clamps down on his arm. He turns around to see the Alpha staring at him as if someone as just opened a curtain and he is seeing the world for the first time.

“I’m not trying to control your life. I just want you to be healthy. And you’re not healthy.” Tony seems so genuine, his eyes shining and his tone so sincere that Steve believes him.

“Why do you care?”

The Alpha sighs, setting his coffee cup on the sink and moving forward so that he stood in front of Steve. “I just…” Tony shakes his head and smiles. “Will you go to the appointment?”

Steve bites his lips, worrying it with his teeth, noticing how Tony’s gaze immediately drifts down and watches. The blond swallows before saying, “Sure, I’ll go. But only if you come with me.” The decision to let Tony come with him is a bit strange and Steve can’t properly explain why he did it but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them.

The billionaire is obviously surprised but still he nods. “You got it.”

And Steve smiles a bit and Tony returns it before they both move back to the dining room. Their hands brush as they walk and the Omega feels his cheeks heating up as the Alpha’s gaze turns to him again. They are right at the entrance of the room and no one has seen them yet.

“Steve…” Tony says and Steve looks at him, feeling his heart beating wildly in his chest.

The blond opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Bruce turns around and spots them.

“Hey guys. Everything okay?”

Steve is snapped out of his trance and goes to sit back down on his chair, Tony following him. He can feel Natasha’s gaze on him, trying to figure out what happen and he looks up at her, shaking his head a bit. She sighs and returns eating as the tense silence in the room dissolves. Steve eats some eggs now, Tony’s eyes burning a hole in his head.

He really hopes he hasn’t made a mistake by asking the Alpha to come with him.

*

Steve blows out a breath from between clenched teeth, his leg jumping up and down. The smell of disinfectant that seems to cling to the hospital is burning his nostrils and the fluorescent lights are too bright for his eyes. There is so much white around him that he almost wants to paint part of the wall just to see some _color_. He shakes his head, nervously licking his lips and clenching his hands into fists. His belly is hurting, and he is sure that his heart rate and blood pressure are off the charts. Why is he so nervous? It isn’t like this is the first time he has been to the doctor in this century, let alone in his whole life. But, this _is_ the first time he has been to a doctor to see his baby and that makes him more nervous than anything else.

“I never realized how little I know about vaginas.” Tony comments staring at a poster in the wall of the room that has a very graphic image of the reproductive organ in question.

Steve grimaces. “Surprising considering you must have screwed about half the population of New York.” The sentence comes out bitter and Steve almost apologizes until he sees the wide smirk on Tony’s face.

“You’re right. But I compensate my lack of medical knowledge with a knowledge of other kind.” Dark eyebrows are wiggled in his direction and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Gross.” Steve murmurs and shakes his head.

“Lighten up, Cap. You shouldn’t talk especially since I’m about to see _your_ vagina.”

Steve gasps. “No, you’re not.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I might just sneak a peek.” He winks and Steve blanches.

“Stark, I _will_ hit you.”

“Take it easy. I promise I won’t peek.” Steve must have looked dubious. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He makes a cross over the left part of his chest, a grin stretching his lips.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.” Steve sighs and Tony makes his way, plopping down on the stool situated next to the bed that the blond is sitting on.

“You okay?” Tony asks, staring up at Steve since the bed is higher than the stool. The Alpha takes his hand, his skin tanned in comparison to Steve’s pale complexion. Tony’s hands are calloused, large with strong bones and tendons – a worker’s hands – while Steve’s are smooth and sinewy even after all the work he does with his shield. The serum doesn’t allow him to grow callous or imperfections or scars. Just unblemished skin.

He smiles, small and a bit less stressed, feeling Tony’s warm hand squeezing his slightly. “I’m fine.” He looks up into the Alpha’s dark eyes and simply watches. Tony is older than him by about fifteen years and some of it shows on his face from the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes to the laugh lines around his mouth and nose. There is a heaviness in his gaze that belied all the terrible things he has been through. The more Steve sees, the more he realizes, maybe for the first time, with clarity, that Tony is handsome. Incredibly handsome – that devilish, mischievous type of rugged good looks.

Steve swallows thickly at the thoughts running through his head, one of them being that if Tony kissed him he would probably taste like coffee and that candy he eats all the time, and his lips would be a bit chapped but _so_ soft. Tony must be a great kisser. A really good kisser. That leads to Steve wondering what else Tony must be really good at…

The door opening makes his little fantasy evaporate and he feels his cheeks heating up as he removes his hands from Tony’s. He clears his throat to break the silence and attributes all the thoughts to his hormones. He turns to the entrance of the room, seeing a doctor, in her early thirties with a mass of black curly hair. She is tall, long-legged and with a runner’s built, her body hidden by the scrubs she is wearing. Her face is sweet and beautiful, with sharp cheekbones and full lips, while her eyes are wide and dark and bright.

She is carrying a chart and briefly looks down at it before giving him a smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers. My name is Sarah Wilson and I will be your doctor.” She looks incredibly proud of herself, as if saying those words makes a fire light inside her. He smiles back just because of it. Her eyes drift to Tony. “Is this the father?”

“No.” Steve and Tony speak at the same time and she chuckles lightly. Even her laugh sounds like bells and summer, as weird as that sounds.

“I figured.” She comments, and he wonders if she knows that he is Captain America. His identity isn’t exactly public knowledge and he wants to keep it that way.

“Just lay back and push your shirt up and your pants down.” She moves over to get some gloves while he gets in position.

He rucks up his t-shirt and unbuttons his pants, lowering them a bit so his lower stomach is bare. Tony, true to his word, turns his back at the doc as she settles next to Steve preparing the ultrasound machine, and instead, rests his forearm on the bed beside the blond’s ribs. He looks down at Steve, and smiles.

“Don’t peak. You promised.” Steve says lightly, trying to ignore his nervousness or the way his hand is shaking almost unperceptively.

“There isn’t much to peak on.” Tony counters which is true but he doesn’t need to know that.

So, Steve responds. “Still.”

“I won’t peak.” Tony promises, his eyes soft as he stares at Steve and the blond smiles.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

“Okay, Mr. Rogers--” she starts, and he interrupts.

“You can call me Steve.”

She smiles, nods and then sits down on the chair in front of the ultrasound machine. “Alright, Steve. This is going to feel a little cold.” She squeezes some gel directly onto his skin and he feels a shiver running up his spine as the coldness penetrates down to his bones. She sets a probe-like thingy on his belly and starts moving it around.

On the screen to his left a black and white image appears. At first, he can’t see much, just some blurs but then she angles the probe in a certain way and the monitor suddenly explodes with image.

“That’s your baby.”

It is small, a human-like shape, curled around with tiny hands and a tiny nose and tiny legs. Steve feels his breath stuttering in his chest, his sternum a bit too tight and his throat a bit too closed. Tears sprang to his eyes suddenly and everything is overwhelming. This baby that he and Bucky made together, he can see it, and it feels like this is the first time that he has confirmation that this is happening. That this is real. That in a few months he will have a child to take care of, to protect and educate. A child that needs his love and his support and his strength. That needs _him_. This baby, boy or girl, Alpha or Beta or Omega, big or small, sick or healthy, will be a perfect combination of Steve and Bucky. He knows it. Knows that this baby will be perfect, no matter what.

His baby. _Their_ baby – his and Bucky’s.

He chokes on a breath and blinks his eyes quickly, desperate to not cry. Jesus, he has been crying way too much. Instead, he stares at his baby and a smile bursts through his lips, untamed and the biggest since he woke up.

“I can’t tell the gender for now, but I can tell you that the baby is completely healthy.” Dr. Wilson says, her own eyes on the monitor. “Would you like a photo?”

He is so distracted that he almost doesn’t hear the question. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

She pressed a few keys and while the photo comes out, she hands him a few papers so that he can clean himself. He does so, buttoning his jeans, pushing his shirt back down and sitting up again.

Tony shifts so that he is facing the doctor as well. He seems a bit off, his gaze far away and Steve is sure that this is probably the first time he has seen an ultrasound. Or maybe not. But he is definitely different.

Dr. Wilson goes back for her chart, writing some things down, moving around the room to pick a few things up and Steve patiently waits for her to turn to him.

“So, Steve, from what I could see you are about fifteen weeks along, which means that you are in the beginning of your second trimester.” She then hands him a white bottle with a green label. “This is your prenatal vitamins. Take one everyday whenever you remember them, at night or in the morning, even during the day. They will probably make you a bit nauseous, so you should take them with a meal. Even with the serum, these should work.”

“So, you know.” Steve comments, keeping his surprise to himself.

She shrugs. “It’s classified information and Mr. Stark here has already interrogated me about eighteen times and ran five background checks.”

Tony simply shrugs, completely unapologetic.

“Moving on. Take the vitamins. I want to see you again in about a month, and Mr. Stark has already schedule your next appointments until the day you have your baby.”

Steve figures that he should be mad but at least this is something he doesn’t have to worry about. One thing she says catches his attention, though.

“You already know the due date?”

“Yes, it’s around January 20th, give or take a day or two.” She says and he nods, taking in a breath. “Alright, do you have any questions?” He shakes his head and then she hands him a sheet of paper that she pulled from the chart. “This is a list of foods that you can eat, the ones you need to be careful not to ingest regularly and the one you should avoid.” He nods again, feeling a bit overwhelmed as he looks down at the enormous list of things he is allowed to eat or not. Christ, back in the 40s people were lucky to give birth in a hospital, let alone have all these restrictions and vitamins and such. But he can’t exactly complain since all this will just make sure that his baby will be healthier and stronger and bigger. All good things.

“Still don’t have any questions?” She asks again, just to make sure and he shakes his head, feeling Tony set his hand on his shoulder.

“Steve?” The Alpha probably noticed his completely terrified look.

“Just… If anything happens, how can I contact you?” This is the first thing in his mind. He doesn’t know anything other than watching his mother’s work as a midwife when he was younger. If something happens, he wants to have a professional opinion.

She nods, understanding and he guesses that she probably has to answer this question a lot of times. “On this…” she hands him a small card that she plucked from her pocket, “…there is the hospital’s number, the department’s and,” she then scribbles something on it, “and my personal phone number, just in case you have any questions.”

He smiles, suddenly incredibly grateful to have her as his doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Wilson.”

She grins back and thrusts a hand out. “I hope to see you on September 2nd, Steve.”

He claps his hand to hers and gives it one firm shake. “Thank you.” He repeats and hops off the bed.

Tony shakes the good doctor’s hand too, a smirk on his face. “You are brilliant, Dr. Wilson.”

“Just doing my job, Mr. Stark.” She replies very professionally and Steve bites back the smile at Tony’s crestfallen expression. He obviously had been hoping for a new conquest, but Dr. Wilson didn’t seem like she is one to fool around.

“C’mon, Tony.” Steve calls and they leave the office. The blond feels a bit more confident now that he has all this new information. He just hopes he doesn’t mess this up.

* * *

[2nd September 2012 – 20 weeks]

Steve doesn’t talk for a long time. A long, long time. He chooses to watch the scenery outside the car, buildings and malls and shops, all of them passing by. The silence is enough to make him want to crack but he knows that this is what Fury wants. People have an uncanny pressure to want to fill the silence, usually by talking. But he will not do it. Simply because he doesn’t think he can.

About thirty minutes ago, he walked into the SHIELD headquarters in New York, asked to see Nick Fury, who thankfully was there and not on the Helicarrier, and then pratically dragged the man to the car. He hadn’t wanted to talk in Fury’s office, simply because he was sure that it had video and audio surveillance and he didn’t want anyone else knowing about this.

So, here he is, drumming his fingers on his jean-covered thigh and biting his lip so much is sure that it will start bleeding soon.

“Rogers?” Fury prompts in that indifferent, even tone of his, like he can think of twenty-seven better things to be doing right now than being here.

Steve lets out a breath, opens his mouth and says, “I’m pregnant.”

The Omega is sure that it is only due to being a super spy that Fury doesn’t throw the car off the road. His arms to twitch to the side though, but he gets it under control pretty quickly.

He is silent for a few moments, obviously trying to figure out something to say. “How far along?”

“Twenty weeks today.”

Fury nods and keeps his one eye on the road. “How long have you known?”

“A while.” Steve responds, not giving a straight answer. “I assumed you knew.”

The Alpha’s eye turns sharply to him before returning to the front. “Why would you assume that?”

Steve licks his lips. “I was already pregnant when I came out of the ice. I am sure you did tests on me while I was unconscious.” The accusation is there, the sense of violation he feels, but Fury doesn’t react. “So, I thought you knew.”

“Those exams don’t include pregnancy tests. And we didn’t even know you were an Omega.”

Steve is aware that him being an Omega is not public knowledge. During the war, only Erskine, Howard, Phillips, Peggy and the Commandos knew, and none of them had ever included that in their reports or written papers. There was no written or scientific proof that he was an Alpha, but people assumed that he was. Big, strong Captain America being an Omega? Blasphemy. So, he knows that the fact he is an Omega is only known, currently, by the Avengers, Pepper, Peggy, Gabe and Fury (he is sure that Hill knows as well). Again, it is information that isn’t a part of his file.

“I wouldn’t have recruited you otherwise.” Fury continues and Steve turns to him then. He frowns and plays back what the director just said. “I’m not that much of an ass, Rogers.” The Alpha says to his unspoken question and Steve smiles slightly before it fades.

“Sir, I would appreciate it if this conversation remains classified.”

Fury nods. “You got it, soldier. We can’t afford the world knowing that you’re an Omega.”

Steve feels the need to defend himself rising. “Why not?” Did people still think that being an Omega is something to be ashamed of?

Fury lifts an eyebrow. “Settle down, Captain. I’m not bigoted. But can you imagine what the evil in the world would give for you? The only super soldier in the world, pregnant and an Omega.” Steve knows where Fury is going with this now. “They would take that kid away from you and raise it to become a killer. Then, they would treat you like a breeding mare, so that their army of super soldiers would never end. Especially if the serum is genetically passed down.”

The blond is sure that he is turning green, bile rising in his throat, because Fury immediately cracks open the window and says, “Don’t puke on my car, Rogers.”

The cool air hitting his face is enough to settle his upset stomach, swallowing back the acid in his mouth and taking in full, deep breaths. He runs a hand through his hair, settling back on his seat and sighing.

They are silent for a while, Fury driving and Steve thinking, those horrific images playing like a never-ending movie in his mind. Someone taking his baby away, him tied to a bed with some Alpha rutting on top of him, his baby being turned into a mindless assassin. Something to be used – a machine. God, just the thought is enough to make him want to throw up again.

“What will you do?” He eventually asks Fury, his voice low and emotionless.

“I’m not going to do anything. The interns at SHIELD are going to spread a rumor that you took a hit in a recent mission and can’t work for the time being.” Fury’s voice is light, mischievous even and Steve feels the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Then, you are going to be sent in an important assignment with absolute radio silence and won’t be seen for a few months.” His eye goes to Steve’s stomach. “When will the kid be born?”

“January.”

“Hum… That’s enough. If you need a bit more time, I’ll just have Hill scaring the crap out of anyone who asks where you are.” Steve can definitely imagine her doing that. “But Rogers, I can only protect you to an extent. So, no playing hero. You can’t expose yourself.”

“I know, sir.” Steve does know. This baby is the most important right now and nothing will change that. But he also can’t stop thinking that if the Avengers are in danger, he won’t be able to do anything. He is now a liability, a weakness, an easy mark. He hasn’t been an easy mark since before the serum and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“What is it?”

At first, Steve thinks that Fury is asking him what he is thinking but then realizes that he probably wouldn’t wonder that. His brows furrow, trying to understand but then Fury’s eye goes to his belly, the bump more visible now, jutting out from between his hips, already curving upward and only hidden if his jacket is loose enough.

The Omega smiles, reaching down a hand to settle it across the hard flesh. “A girl. It’s a girl.” His baby girl. An Omega, but he couldn’t care less about that. When he heard Dr. Wilson saying the gender and dynamic of his baby, he could barely belief it. This pregnancy is becoming more and more real, with him seeing the baby for the first time, the continually growing bump, the sex and dynamic now revealed. It just makes things more tangible, not as hypothetical anymore. During his appointment, Dr. Wilson had said again that everything is healthy and running smoothly, and even allowed him to hear the heartbeat. Hearing that made his own heart sing and it felt like the universe was falling into place, all the stars aligning. He had left the hospital with a small smile before deciding that since he hit his midway mark that he should tell Fury. Now here he is.

When he looks back at the director, he is sure that he sees the ghost of a smile on the Alpha’s face. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir.” Steve says.

After discussing a few more things about the Avengers, Fury drops him off at the Tower and the blond takes the elevator up, goes directly to his floor, asks JARVIS to inform the Avengers that he wouldn’t be eating tonight, and changes into his pajamas. Looking at the bedside table clock, he notices that it is already eight pm. He is more than a bit surprised. His consult had ended at four and he and Fury got into the car at about five. Did he really stay talking with the director for three hours?

Shaking his head, Steve went about his nighttime routine, choosing to call it a night now since he is a bit tired. He is just returning to his bedroom from the bathroom, when a flash of light catches his attention. With the lamp on the bedside table on, he sees that he left the drawer a bit open. Inside are Steve’s dog tags and lying next to them is his ring. Bucky’s own is still with his dog tags which Steve now carries around his neck but Steve hadn’t really remembered that he wasn’t using his ring.

He picks it up and twirls it around between his fingers, the gold catching the light and almost glowing. It is simple and worn out and dented but still in one piece. It is one of the few things that Steve has left of Bucky’s, the most important being the baby now growing in his body.

That leads to wonder if Bucky would be happy if he was here. Of course, he would. Of the two of them, Bucky was the one that wanted children. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t want them, they just weren’t his priority. Growing up so sickly and small, he accepted long ago that he couldn’t have children. It was a topic that he and Bucky discussed a lot. There was the talk of adoption, but they couldn’t afford a baby. While the Barnes family was more well stocked than the Rogers’, evident by Bucky’s slicked back hair and his fancy suits and their car and their willingness to take in Steve after his ma died and money not being an issue even with one more mouth to feed, it was a completely different thing to support a grown person and supporting a baby.

Then came the war and Steve gave thanks that he had never had a child. Raising a tiny human while a war was going on was dangerous. He wouldn’t do that to his offspring. His desire to help out grew even more, especially once Bucky got drafted. He didn’t want to. Bucky never wanted to fight in the war but he was a healthy, young, male Alpha and luck was never his friend. And off he went, to fight a war that others caused and leaving Steve behind. When the blond got the serum, it was like a new door had been opened for him. For _them_. But having a baby then would have been irresponsible. Steve could remember a few pregnancy scares during their missions with the Commandos because they were idiots and protections wasn’t something that they had at hand and Steve and Bucky still had needs and those needs translated in them screwing like rabbits. Thankfully, he never actually got pregnant during the war. Well, he did but then his mate fell to his death and Steve fell to his.

And here he is. Steve sighs and puts the ring back on the drawer, closes it, shuts off the lamp and lays down. He turns on his side, slipping a hand down to cradle his bump and closes his eyes. In his dreams, he sees a small, blonde haired baby in a pink dress toddling over to Bucky, dressed in one of his suits, eyes wide and grey and so happy, a large smile on his face as he waited for his daughter to come to him. They were together, their little family.

But it is only a dream, and Steve realizes that when he wakes up and Bucky isn’t there.

* * *

[23rd September 2012 – 23 weeks]

Gabe looks the same.

As strange as that sounds it’s the truth. He has obviously aged, wrinkles lining his face and frailness set in his bones, but his personality hasn’t changed a bit. He is still so gentle, his smile tender and his words soft, something to smooth out the rough edges in a way not even Steve sometimes could. He has been like this even during the war and it was welcomed at times, when the darkness started to close in, threatening to suffocate them all.

So here is Steve, as young as ever and now pregnant, standing in front of his friend in the nursing home he now lives in, seeing those dark eyes land on his face for the first time in 67 years and feeling the weight chained to his shoulders drop as he smiles. However, the ball of ice soon returns when he realizes that Gabe don’t know about his pregnancy. And just like that he is almost afraid of removing his black jacket, which just barely covers his bump in a play of shadows, but then he remembers that this is a member of the Howling Commandos – they had served under Steve at a time when the worst thing an Alpha could do was acknowledge an Omega as anything other than a place for them to shove their dicks.

As such, he decides to push through. Steve is facing him when he removes his jacket, slowly and firmly, feeling the tension in his body grow. Gabe notices immediately, that perceptive mind (not perturbed by old age as much as Steve thought it would be) of his not letting anything escape.

“I see you didn’t thaw out alone, Cap.” He says as a way of greeting and Steve allows himself a smile, moving forward to sit in the sofa placed next to Gabe’s bed in his bedroom.

The older man is sitting in his wheelchair, thin hands cradled in his lap and a smile settled upon his face as he watches Steve lower himself into the couch cushion like an idiot due to the added cargo he is carrying around.

“You should be out, Steve. Not in here with all the old people.” Gabe chimes when Steve doesn’t begin to talk, not knowing what to say. Here with the Alpha where he can be himself, he allows slip-ups, lets the silence grow, knows that he doesn’t have to offer advice because this man, Gabe, he knows how Steve thinks and understands that.

So, he smiles, sardonically and bitterly, saying, “Technically, I _am_ old.”

“Son, I’m 94 years old and you don’t look a day over 25.” Gabe comments, eyes rooming over Steve’s face and body, noticing how he was still the exact same as when he was in the 40s.

“Don’t call me that.” The blond says, feeling uncomfortable.

Gabe is confused. “Call you what?”

“’Son’.” Steve clarifies, looking down at his lap (or what is left of it). “It just makes me feel…” _Alone. Lost. Terrible because I left my team when I was at my worst and didn’t think about my actions._

“It is okay to grief. There is nothing wrong with it.” Gabe sounds like he has been through it, like he knows what it is like to feel like your heart has been ripped out of your chest.

The Omega shakes his head, subconsciously letting his hand drop on his bump. It’s bigger now, convex in a way that is impossible to not see that he is pregnant. He has been coming to terms with it – with this pregnancy and this baby and all it would bring. It has been hard and there have been a few bumps (pun unintended) in the road but he has grown. Has grown to love this baby.

“I know but sometimes I remember that I’m alone.” As soon as he says it he stiffens in embarrassment and guilt. “I mean, I have you. You’re here. But, I--”

Gabe waves him off. “I understand.”

Steve exhales. “It’s just that Bucky isn’t here. Peggy has Alzheimer’s. Howard and the rest of the Commandos are dead. I just feel like I’m drowning and there is nothing to save me.” He feels bad for whining but then he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to act like Captain America, all stoic and Alpha and commanding, a perfect soldier that only follows orders. He can be just Steve and, honestly, that is what feels the best right now.

He continues. “I just feel like Bucky would have the answer. He would know what to do.” Tears prickle his eyes, making his vision blurry as he blinks the wetness away, willing himself not to cry. He bites his lip almost raw as he clamps his teeth down with the force of holding everything inside him. “I just…” He shakes his head, not knowing what to say or do or think. His mind is a jumbled mess of excuses and promises and pleas of forgiveness – to his ma for not being stronger; to Dr. Erskine for not being a good man; to Peggy for not listening to his heart; to Bucky for not saving him, not jumping when he was falling. Every bit of their sorrow and their pain was his fault, his doing. He was their downfall.

He is like poison – touch him ( _love him_ ) and you’re dead.

He doesn’t realize he is sobbing until Gabe’s hands, sturdy but lined with weakness, grabbed hold of his forearm as he leans forward in his wheelchair. Steve looks up, lip trembling and cheeks wet, his palms shaking uncontrollably. Gabe seems so sad, so torn apart for seeing him like this and Steve knows that it is his fault. He did this to his friend. Made him sad. He makes everyone sad.

“It was my fault.” He gasps, and Gabe’s eyes are wet when he slides his hand down to grasp Steve’s tightly. An anchor to steady him in the middle of a storm.

“It was _not_ your fault.” Gabe says it so firmly that Steve almost believes him. He remembers holding onto that train for dear life, face buried in his arms as he ached with the loss of his husband, of his soulmate. Gabe grabbed him then, pulling back into the train and taking him in his arms as the Omega sobbed his heart out. He had been strong then, an Alpha, resilient as he tried to give some comfort to Steve in the only way he could. Steve had passed out, completely exhausted, and when he woke up he was in a plane returning to London with the Howling Commandos around him, each one grieving, eyes heavy with sadness and hearts heavy with compassion.

“Steve, you need to start to forgive yourself. There are some things that are out of our control, that we can’t stop no matter how much we want to. Bucky made his choice when he decided to go on that train, we made our choice when we chose to follow you into the gates of hell, Peggy and Stark and Erskine, they all made their choices. To stand with you. To be your friends, your teammates, your soulmate even.” Steve looks away, feeling his chest get inhumanly tight as he fights to keep everything inside him.

“And you need to think about that,” Gabe gestures to the bump, the ball of Steve’s stomach separating them. “You need to think about that baby and what you are going to do. You aren’t alone; you have me and that baby and your new team,” Steve thinks about the curl of Bruce’s hair, the curve of Tony’s smirk, the gentleness of Natasha’s hands, the calmness of Clint’s gaze, the outline of Thor’s figure. He thinks of that and feels something in his chest, small and secretive, akin to the way he feels when he remembers his ma’s soft dresses, or Bucky’s cool confidence, or Peggy’s quick thinking, or the Commandos with their bowler hats and moustaches and jackets and weapons.

Gabe seems to know what he is thinking by the way his eyes twinkle and his figure relaxes slightly, like a weight as been lifted off his shoulders. “For once, Steve, you need to think about yourself first. If anything, do it for the baby, for _Bucky_.”

Steve knows that but he can’t let go of the past, can’t let them slip through his fingers like sand. He needs to keep them close, tucked against his chest until they are a part of him, ingrained deep in his bones. It’s not just about letting go – he can’t forgive himself. If he hadn’t been selfish, hadn’t accepted Erskine’s offer to become Captain America he would still be there. He would have waited for Bucky and—No, that’s not right. Bucky wouldn’t be there. He had been captured and would have died in that factory because nobody would have rescued him and the other prisoners. The Commandos would have died too and the Red Skull would have won, would have ruled the world. He would have to become Captain America for Bucky and the Commandos to live, for this child to grow inside him now. But he didn’t have to crash the plane. There were other choices – he could have jumped at the last minute, could have given the coordinates to Peggy, could have accepted Howard’s help. But he hadn’t because Bucky was dead and Steve was lost and in his mind and his body, in his sorrow-filled heart, there had been no other way, no other choice. He would die and he would be with Bucky and the universe would be set straight again. Yet, he had survived 67 years of hypothermia and drowning and being frozen, – suspended animation, the doctors had called it – putting his body on hold until the next century. And in the end, here he is, still alive and still Captain America, but now pregnant and a widower.

Gabe speaks again. “Steve, you need to accept that Bucky is dead.” It is harder to hear those words than he thought, the syllables driving a hole into his chest that has been wide and hollow since Bucky fell from that train. It is even harder to stop the tears and they trail down his cheeks like twin rivers of sorrow. “He isn’t coming back. So, you need to accept that and again, think about that baby. That’s the most important right now.”

Jones is right. This baby is the best thing in his life, it is his silver lining, his light. He isn’t going to throw that away, no matter what. Steve feels as if a huge weight as been lifted from his shoulders, his head cleared and his heart a little lighter. He smiles, small and slow and the most honest since he woke up, even through the tears, and while he can’t quite let everyone go yet but he is getting there. And the first move to acceptance is clear in his mind, so he shuffles his hand into his jean pocket and removes its content.

His wedding ring, given to him years and years ago, shines brightly under the harsh lights of the room. Gabe is looking at him, simply watching but never asking anything, wondering where he is going with this. He picks it up and slides it into left ring finger, feeling something inside his being relax with the familiar weight and feel. Somehow, since this was given to his pre-serum self, it fits perfectly like an old shirt. He runs his thumb over the gold metal and smiles when it catches the light.

“How does it look?” He wonders, extending his hand to Gabe, showing off the ring.

Gabe takes his hand in a wrinkly one, holding his fingers like they did in those old movies Steve saw and says, “It looks beautiful,” and that is enough for him. His former teammate seems happy just by seeing Steve happy and if that doesn’t define the Commandos, he doesn’t know what does.

Steve smiles again and is ready to ask Gabe to tell him all about his wonderful grandson when a few nurses rushed past their room. It’s a little strange but he ignores it, thinking that it probably is some patience in need. But then, his phone beeps. He apologizes to Gabe and fishes it out of his pocket, seeing that it is a text from a number he doesn’t recognize.

_Where are you?_

He furrows his brows and tries to figure who could have sent it, noticing out the corner of his eye that Gabe is turning on the TV. He dials the number and brings his phone up, listening as it rings. This goes on until he is ready to disconnect when there is a voice in his ear.

“ _Steve, where are you?_ ” Pepper sounds shaken and breathless as if she is running the marathon.

“Pepper? What is it? Are you okay?”

“ _Have you seen the news?_ ” She asks and he doesn’t understand until Gabe calls him.

“Steve, you should see this.”

He turns around, eyes widening and breath stilling in his chest as he sees the TV. CNN is streaming live about some sort of attack on downtown Manhattan, right in Times Square. The camera is shaking around, the images blurring until they focus on something. Not something; _someone_. A huge green body that is tearing apart everything. The Army is already there, mobilizing soldiers so they can get a hold on the Hulk, but Steve knows that anything they do will only make him angrier. There are people running around, screaming, trying to find cover and Steve can’t see Tony or Nat or Clint. Why aren’t they there?

He moves before he can think, collecting his jacket and jerking it on, his phone still pressed to his ear. He removes it briefly to tell Gabe that he has to go, has to help his friends, to which the older man replies that he should be careful because of the baby. Steve then flies out of the room, going fast down the hallway and to the parking lot, quickly finding his car and driving away. Pepper informs him that, according to JARVIS, the Avengers had left on a mission which involved some underground laboratory that was manufacturing some sort of chemical that changes brain chemistry, making people more aggressive and depend on their emotions. And Bruce had gotten a face-full of that shit has they loaded the chemicals into a truck to take back to SHIELD.

Now the Hulk is running rampage in the middle of New York and he still doesn’t know where Clint or Natasha or Tony are. Pepper doesn’t know either and Steve is then rerouted to Maria Hill, who quickly got him an update on the situation. The Hulk is still in Times Square and the Army has already dispatched a full battalion of soldiers there. _They are waiting for a fight._

That thought is enough to send his heart rate spiking and his hands shake as he stops the car. There is a huge line of traffic, honking and yelling, asking about the hold up, not knowing what was causing the delay. So, Steve gets out and goes on foot the rest of the way. Thankfully, he isn’t that far away and he can still run, even if he is careful with the baby.

His mind is racing, trying to find a way to stop the Hulk, calm him enough to turn back to Bruce, to soothe a beast. It is impossible. He can’t do it. No one can do it. He tries to think of someone close to Bruce, someone he has talked about or met with but the man is a hermit. He doesn’t tell anything to anyone. Still, there has to be someone in this Earth that he can talk to. Someone he cares about. Then the lightbulb in his head lights up.

As he weaves his way through the busy streets that lead to Times Square, he calls back Maria Hill and over the sound of screaming and mayhem, he tells her what to do, a way to bring down the Hulk. She listens to him, agrees to do so as quickly as possible and he can hear her talking to someone on the other side of the line. She pratically orders him to be careful before hanging up and he stuffs his phone back into his pocket.

He can see the middle of Times Square and the memories of standing in this exact place after waking up assault him but he blinks them away, instead focusing on the scene in front of him. There is a huge circle of soldiers, all of them in full gear and brandishing rifles, the barrels pointing at the Hulk. The beast is in the middle of said circle, completely angry, his face twisted as he smashes the (thankfully) empty cars into balls of metal. There are Army tanks behind the soldiers and a command post. They took less time to get here than it did during Loki’s invasion.

He makes his way through the crowd of people surrounding the Army personnel, angling his stomach away before making it to the front. The police are there though, a man in his late forties with dark hair and small eyes. He looks familiar, that same hardened cop face and then it hits him. This is the man that wouldn’t take his orders during the Chitauri Battle. Steve gets right in his face, leaning down so the man could listen to him over the noise.

“You need to let me through.”

The man, as expected, looks unimpressed and simply asks. “Why the hell should I do that?”

“Because you wouldn’t take orders from me before but you need to do it now.” Steve answers and sees the man’s eyes scanning his face. He probably doesn’t recognize the blond without the uniform.

“Have we met?” The cop is starting to get suspicious, so Steve leans in even more.

“I’m the guy with the shield and the spangled outfit you wouldn’t take orders from during the battle of New York four months ago.”

The man reels back, shocked and amazed as he gasps. He looks over Steve’s body, eyes widening as he takes in the pregnant stomach. He hesitates then but the blond doesn’t have time for second thoughts. “Please.”

The cop swallows and when he meets Steve’s eyes there is determination there. “Go ahead, Cap.” Then he moves out of the way and Steve passes, giving the man a small smile and absentmindedly noticing that his name is Silva.

He attracts attention immediately, being in civilian clothes and in the middle of a military operation but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he rushes through as quickly as possible, not letting anyone get in his way. He then barrels into the tight circle of soldiers, slamming his shoulder into theirs. They are so distracted with the Hulk they didn’t notice him until he passed their resistance. Steve hears then yelling, telling him to back off and he resists the urge to tell them to go to hell.

He focuses on the Hulk. He is still entertained with the cars, roaring and breaking and ripping them apart with brute force and righteous anger. Steve can easily admit that he is scared, heart hammering in his chest and cold sweat running down his back. He has faced Nazis, aliens, gods and maniacs, yet this, his teammate, is his biggest challenge. But what frightens him the most is that this baby could suffer the consequences of his actions. If something happens and he can’t control the Hulk, he’ll die and his child will die as well. So, he approaches with cautious, hoping that the SHIELD agents are close so they can control the situation and praying that General Ross won’t arrive before he can get “Big Green” to relax.

“Hulk,” he calls, remembering that the beast had responded to the name during the Battle of New York. Staying true, the Hulk turns around, a growl escaping his lips as his giant hands clench into fists. Dark eyes analyze Steve, an underlying intelligence in them that is all Bruce and something passes through his face. It is small and not very clear in his features but it seems like he relaxes a bit. Like he recognizes Steve.

Hope surges through his body like a powerful wave, enough to make Steve crack a small smile. He takes a small step forward, keeping his body as loose as possible and his face impassive.

“It’s Steve. Steve Rogers. Your friend.” Steve calls in calm, soothing tones, the same voice he used to talk to Bucky’s sisters or even the small children that were fans of him back in the 40s. And just like with the kids, it seems to affect the Hulk, his eyes now holding Steve’s with more of Bruce in them. “It’s Cap. You remember Cap, right? With the shiny shield and the star.” Steve reaches up his hand and draws a star in the middle of his chest, just like the one in his uniform.

The Hulk stares at him, a bit confused before he rocks forward, taking a step. It’s enough to have the soldiers around him adjusting their aim and shifting their stance. Steve breathes a sigh of relief when the Hulk, instead of crushing them to pieces, remains focused on him. Then the big guy reaches out a giant green hand, palm turned upwards and, for a moment, Steve doesn’t understand. What does he do now? His mind works a million a minute, trying to figure out what the Hulk wants until he notices the dark eyes still on his chest.

The star.

He wants the star.

Oh-so slowly, Steve extends his right hand, so tiny compared to the girth of the Hulk’s, and lets it brush against warm, thick skin. He trails the pads of his fingertips against the strong knuckles, keeping eye contact the entire time. Once his hand is on top of the Hulk’s, he lets his fingers draw the five points that constitute a star, his breathing a slow, measured thing as he tries not to let his palm shake too much.

Once he is done, he holds that position for a few seconds before letting his hand rest on top of the Hulk’s. The physical contact seems to sooth him, bringing up more of Bruce and not of the green giant. Still, it is still too soon to celebrate, so he drops more of his hand’s weight on the Hulk, his shoulders sagging but never losing awareness of the situation around them.

The Hulk is still staring deep into his eyes and Steve feels a connection between them, a silent conversation happening and, for the first time, those dark orbs trail down to his stomach. He seems to understand that Steve is pregnant, that there is a human being in there and not something else. There is a deep pain in his gaze that is all Bruce and the missed opportunities and chances that he will never have back. Steve’s heart lurches for him, chest incredibly tight and he sees _tears_ glistening the Hulk’s eyes.

He doesn’t seem to know it but his left-hand raises, the other still holding Steve’s own. Then a large finger is pressed, so gently and so carefully, to the blond’s bump. It almost doesn’t touch, that green skin just barely skimming his shirt-covered belly but still enough to leave a hint of warmth behind. Steve gasps silently, his eyes wide as he realizes that it happening, how soft the Hulk can be when faced with something he likes, something he wants. Like a baby. God, Bruce wants to be a parent so much, those wishes are so big, that they are transmitted to the Hulk.

Steve opens his mouth to say something but there is a flash of movement to his right and his hand tightens its grip on the Hulk, clenching his left fist tightly so that it will stop shaking. He turns to look at the soldier that decided to move too suddenly to adjust his grip on the rifle, sending him a glare that can freeze even the fieriest pits of Hell. The soldier is smart though and ceases his motions, falling back into formation. They are all still in formation, bodies tight and fingers pressed to the trigger, ready to intervene. The police are trying to keep the people away, all of them silent and watching, waiting until Steve can calm down the Hulk. _If_ he can calm down the Hulk.

He turns back to the green giant, ignoring the ones around him as he tries to think of something else to lull the Hulk into submission. He remembers that Bruce likes music. Maybe singing will do. Feeling a bit stupid, Steve starts to hum an old tune, his fingers drawing the star against the Hulk’s broad palm, over and over again as he sings softly.

“ _Stars shinin’ bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’, birds singin’ in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me_ …”

By the end, the Hulk is relaxed enough that he stumbles back a few steps, the warmth disappearing from Steve’s hand as the Big Guy falls to the floor and morphs back into Bruce. The blond can see huge muscles shrinking down, flesh contracting and bones bending as they are squeezed back into a smaller body. It has to be painful and distant memories of Project: Rebirth push their way into Steve’s mind but he banishes them, focusing on his friend.

Thankfully, Bruce had been wearing the stretching pants Tony had been experimenting with, so he isn’t completely buck-ass naked in the middle of Times Square. The trousers are navy in color and normal looking, something one would wear to take a stroll through the city. Not very superhero-y. Discreet, like Bruce.

The scientist is still lying on the pavement when Steve goes to him, dropping to his knees then and there. Bruce’s face is flushed, sweat covering his skin and damping his chest hair. Steve would never have guessed that Bruce was so hairy. The thought is so silly in comparison to the tense situation they escaped from that it startles a chuckle from Steve.

Bruce looks at him as if he’s crazy but doesn’t comment, resting his head of the hard floor beneath. He is shirtless and although it’s September, the wind is a bit cold so Steve removes his jacket and hands it to Bruce, allowing the Beta to cover himself. The jacket is big on him but it does keep him protected and won’t allow him to get anymore dehydrated until Steve can get him back to medical.

Just as Bruce slips it on, SHIELD arrives, black SUVs with the logo stamped across them making their way from the depths of the crowd. They quickly take control of the situation, Maria Hill commanding them all like a lion would to sheeps and he smiles briefly at her when their eyes meet. She returns it with a firm nod and a quick onceover before continuing her job.

But their arrival only reminds Steve of one thing. Before he can ask anything though, there is a loud, mechanical sound from the sky, almost like a motor running. Steve looks up just in time to see a streak of gold and red as Iron Man lands in front of them, crushing the pavement as hard boots slam into it. He has Clint and Natasha in both arms and they detangle themselves as soon as their feet touch the ground, making their way over to Bruce and Steve. There is a question in their eyes but they are smart enough to realize that the blond managed to calm down the Hulk. Clint moves to get Bruce off the ground while Natasha takes hold of Steve’s elbow and helps him up. She looks up at him and then at his stomach, clearing wanting to know if everything is okay. He has learned that sometimes Natasha doesn’t talk with her mouth. So, he gives her a smile and a nod of his head, indicating that they are all fine. She analyzes him once again before going over to help Clint with Bruce.

Steve then turns around and locks eyes with Tony, whose faceplate is up and revealing a bruise in his cheekbone. The blond moves before the billionaire can do anything, going over to hug him. The armor is cold and hard under his body but Steve doesn’t care as he feels his sternum staring to tighten. Tears blur his vision and he gasps wetly and sharply into a metal chest, his bump pressed against the armor. Tony, who is not as emotionally constipated as people make him out to be, notices Steve’s distress and wraps his arms around his back. In Iron Man, Tony is taller than the Omega, not overly much, just enough that Steve can rest his chin on his shoulder without shifting all too much.

“Jesus, Tony. You guys scared the crap outta me.”

The Alpha pulls back and Steve allow him to, taking a backwards step, knowing that Tony wasn’t very comfortable with physical interaction, especially in public. Steve reaches up to scrub the back of his hand over his cheeks to erase any sign of tears.

“Gave you a little heart attack, Cap? You need to be a careful. A scare at your age is dangerous.” Tony smirks and Steve rolls his eyes but can’t keep the relieved smile from his lips.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.” He tells him honestly, his heart hammering in his chest at the way that Tony’s eyes soften, his face falling.

“Me too.” He admits and Steve’s smile gets a little bigger. He can’t help himself from reaching over and brushing his left hand over Tony’s bruised cheekbone, making the billionaire flinch a bit before dropping it back to his side. Tony returns his smile, looking bemused at Steve’s mother-hening, and then looks over the blond’s shoulder at Bruce. “Looks like you tamed the beast.”

Steve shrugs, a blush dusting his cheeks as he turns around to look at the scientist, as their teammates get into a SHIELD-issue car and drive off to the Tower, knowing that Steve will go with Tony. “It was no big deal.”

This time Tony is the one rolling his eyes. “Only you can think that calming down the Hulk isn’t a big deal. That’s like controlling the Kraken. No one controls the Kraken.”

“Davy Jones does.” Steve says and Tony’s eyes grow wide.

“Did you just make a _Pirates of the Caribbean_ reference, Steve Rogers?” The Alpha looks positively shocked and Steve can’t help his smirk when he replies.

“I think there should be a Captain in there somewhere.” Tony’s mouth pops open and Steve lets out a laugh at his appalled expression.

“You little shit.”

The sentence is murmured too fondly to be mean and Steve grins widely. His eyes hold Tony’s for a moment, long and endless, and the blond feels something stirring inside him in a way he hasn’t felt since… well, since Bucky. He averts eye contact abruptly, the realization like a bucket of cold water dumped on him. Tony seems a bit concerned with his sudden change of mood and opens his mouth to say something.

However, before he can, there are several flashes next to them as paparazzi and journalists invade the site, shoving microphones and cameras in their faces. Steve stumbles back, a bit unbalanced but Tony catches him, iron fingers clamping down on his elbow. Then he is tucked under a shoulder with an arm around his waist and he barely has time to look over at Tony’s eyes and secure his own grip on the body next to him before the faceplate snaps down and they blast off.

The ride to the Tower is a bit awkward but they make it okay, touching down in the Iron Man landing pad. Steve goes ahead, glancing over his shoulder to see Tony walking behind him as JARVIS removes every single piece of armor from his body, leaving him in jeans and a band t-shirt. They both go to the elevator and Steve punches in the code to take them to the medical floor where Bruce, Clint and Natasha are at.

“Let’s go see if the Shadow Twins and the Green Bean need our help.” Tony comments, ignoring the silence the only way he knows how: by talking until he either runs out of oxygen or the person he is talking to is so tired of the talking that they leave.

Steve doesn’t understand half of what Tony is saying, a strange mix of pop-culture references and science stuff, while the other half is just incoherent gibberish like the time he peed in his suit. The blond wrinkles his nose and can’t help but look down at Tony’s crotch, knowing that he hadn’t peed himself now but not being able to help it.

When he glances back up, Tony is watching him a sultry expression and a cocked eyebrow, confident smirk on his lips. Steve swallows and as soon as the doors of the lift open he is out, brushing past Tony and his wicked eyes to make his way to the med bay.

Clint, Natasha and Bruce are there, the Beta laying on the bed resting and drinking a bottle of water while the two agents are cataloging any injuries they might have. Besides a few bumps and bruises and cuts, there is nothing wrong with them (including Tony, who at first refused to be examined but under Natasha’s silent stare, Steve’s ‘Omega wills’ and Bruce’s insistence, went ahead with it.)

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve asks for what seems the millionth time. He is still a bit concerned but now that he has made sure that his team is good, he relaxes a bit more. The blond sets a hand on his stomach, rubbing his thumb over the hard flesh as the need to make sure that his baby is still there overcomes him.

“We’re fine, Cap.” Clint answers, a bit annoyed over the repeated question but having enough respect for Steve not to show it. “Are you alright?”

The question throws him in a bit of loop. Before he found out he was pregnant, the team never wondered about his well-being. They knew that the serum would heal anything in a short time however serious the injuries were. As such, they didn’t spend too much time worrying about Steve as they did about Natasha and Clint, who were both resilient but still so very breakable. But now, since they found out that he has a human being growing inside him they have been almost suffocating with their questions. Part of him thinks that it is because of the fact that he is an Omega and they think he needs protecting and codling, while the other part thinks that they are worried because of the baby. A third part is just hoping that once this kid is out they won’t continue like this.

So, it takes him a while to answer. “I’m fine.” He _is_ a bit tired and there is a pain on his back that won’t disappear but they don’t need to know that.

“You sure?” Clint checks again and Steve nods, smiles and blinks his eyes a bit. His mother had always told him that Alphas, bonded or not, had an instinctive need to protect, so Omegas should just let them. It is best to let them think that they are in control, she would say. Bate your eyelashes, doe eyes and sweet smiles.

“I’m sure.”

Clint nods and takes his leave, Natasha trailing behind him, her sharp eyes watching Steve like a hawk. She probably knows and has perfected the angle he is playing but he doesn’t say anything, being absolutely sure that she will come to him. Natasha doesn’t like to leave loose threads and she cares, as much as she tries to hide it.

Tony and Bruce are the only other occupants of the room and they are exchanging looks that Steve doesn’t understand and doesn’t have the patience to try to understand. The nagging pain on his back is getting sharper by the second and he is sure that the minute he closes his eyes he will fall asleep.

“Steve?” Bruce’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts and the Omega turns to him, eyebrows raised in expectation.

“What is it?”

“Thank you for what you did out there.” Bruce’s tone is soft, his words so warm and so not like him. It reminds him of the tone the Beta used in the Helicarrier when they were questioning Fury’s reasons.

“It was nothing. You would have come to your own sooner or later.” Steve is sure that Bruce would have calmed himself down enough to shrink back. He has seen him do it. But maybe that whole military presence wouldn’t have allowed him the mental set to do that. Perhaps, Bruce couldn’t stop the Hulk from creating more destruction.

Those thoughts are like poisonous fog curling around the deepest corners of his mind and he tries to make it go away. Bruce doesn’t deserve his distrust and his suspicion. The good doctor has been nothing but friendly and supportive since Steve has met him and the blond shouldn’t wonder if he can have a grip on the Hulk after years of dealing with the Big Guy. He sighs again, loud enough the other occupants of the room could hear him.

Bruce’s brows furrow. “Are you alright, Steve? Do you want to do an ultrasound to make sure the baby is okay?”

He did. He really did but Bruce seems tired and Tony probably doesn’t know how to work with an ultrasound machine. So, he shakes his head and smiles, that soft and sweet smile that Bucky used to say that would get the devil to pray if Steve asked. Tony immediately relaxes in the presence of said smile but Bruce looks at him suspiciously. Maybe it only works on Alphas, Steve thinks distractedly.

His back is still hurting so he decides to turn in, if only so that the temptation to order Bruce to do an ultrasound will go away. 

“I’m gonna go now.” He announces and the two nod, almost in unison. Sometimes Tony and Bruce don’t realize it but they make a lot of things at the same time, as if they actually practiced the movements together. It is a bit unsettling, especially when they have those conversations where they finish each other’s sentences and only half say things as if they are capable of reading each other’s minds.

“Goodnight, Steve.” Bruce says and Tony echoes the words.

Steve steps out and goes straight to the elevator, the doors opening before he even reaches them. He smiles a bit.

“Thanks, JARVIS. To my room, please.” 

“Of course, sir.” JARVIS complies and the lift ascends swiftly. “Sir, I would also like to report that, using my scan, I can see that the fetus is completely healthy. All vitals are within normal limits and there are no signs of fetal distress.”

Steve breathes out a relieved sigh, his hand coming up to rest on his bump. “Thank you, JARVIS.”

“Anytime, sir.” JARVIS says and there might be a slight note of pride in his voice but Steve must be imagining it.

During the ride, he draws little stars over and over in the hard flesh of his stomach. Then the thoughts unravel. He never asked Bruce if he remembered anything after he de-Hulked. He must since he seems to be aware of how much destruction the Hulk has caused. Does he remember the little stars that Steve drew in his hand or the softly hummed song or the intense eye contact? If he does he didn’t say anything. Or maybe he doesn’t want anyone else to know. Bruce is extremely private about his business.

That makes Steve think back. Had Hill called Betty Ross like he asked her to? She probably had and Miss Ross just hadn’t arrived yet. Steve is almost certain that she can comfort Bruce right now. While the Hulk hadn’t caused any casualties, he is sure that having a teammate on the possible line of fire is enough to get him a bit down. The problem with Bruce is that he holds all of the Hulk’s victims and the damage he causes close to his heart and doesn’t let anyone else see, choosing to carry that burden alone. Betty Ross can help him. In fact, now that he thinks about it, all the Avengers do that – they shrink back and let every guilty thoughts and regret settle on their shoulders. Except, not everyone had a Betty Ross to comfort them.

He is so lost in his thoughts that he barely feels it. There is a sudden movement beneath his palm, like butterflies on his stomach, and he looks down, mouth popping open. Did he just…

“JARVIS, what was that?” He asks, still staring at his own bump.

“Sir, there has been a presence of fetal movement.” The doors of the elevator slid open on his floor. “Your baby just moved.” JARVIS clarifies softly and Steve lets out a startled chuckle.

“Thank you.” He says for the third time, exiting the lift. He barely hears JARVIS’ reply, standing like an idiot in the middle of his ‘apartment’, the whole of Manhattan visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and waits. He sets his left hand on the bottom of the bump, the right one on top of it and listens. Minutes go by without anything happening until there is another flutter of motion beneath his skin.

His baby just moved. His baby girl. Sudden tears blur his vision and he thinks that if Bucky were here he would be smiling so widely and so happily that Steve would be concerned that his face would tear in half. But he isn’t. So Steve smiles for him.

“ _Dia duit, a stór._ (Hello, darling.)” He whispers, sniffling and blinking the tears in his eyes. “ _Solas de mo shaol._ (Light of my life.)” She is. She is the absolute light of his life, the most perfect thing he has ever created. That he and Bucky created. She isn’t even born but he knows, without a doubt, that she will be perfect and lovely and so bright. His light. His silver lining.

That night he sleeps, perhaps for the first time since waking up in this century, without nightmares waking up. He falls asleep with a small smile on his face and a hand on his bump, his mind filled with Bucky and their baby.

Good thoughts.

 _Happy_ thoughts.

* * *

[24th September 2012 – 23 weeks]

The next day is one of raining. Not heavily, just a soft pitter patter against the window. Steve decides to go to the Assembly Room, the place where the Avengers are all gathered on their downtime. Tony had been the one to name it.

He sees that Nat is curled up sideways on the armchair, a hardbound book resting on her thighs and a cup sitting on the table in front of her, occasionally extending a hand to take a sip of her drink and then continuing her reading. She is dressed in a pair of black leggings and a grey hoodie with Captain America’s shield on the front, her hair in a ponytail. She looks normal for a master spy; her shoulders are relaxed and that heaviness in her eyes isn’t as accentuated now. She looks young and he remembers that, biologically, she’s only a year or so older than him, yet her reputation is immense. Then again, so is his so he isn’t exactly one to talk.

“Cap,” she greets when he moves further into the room, sitting down on the couch next to the armchair.

“You can call Steve, you know.” He lightly says and picks up the remote. He has been getting the hang of all the technology and it turns out to be a lot simpler than he expected. By now, he can do almost anything with his laptop and smartphone. He is actually pretty proud of myself for it. People assumed that he would be technologically inept, that he wouldn’t eventually learn how to use the toaster or the microwave or the oven, and even the more advanced stuff, like cellphones and computers and TVs. He chooses not to think about it much because people assume a lot of things – especially about him.

Natasha hums and turns a page of her book. “Yes, I can.” And leaves it at that. Steve has learned that she can be very cryptic when she wants and he is sure that she is pulling his tail right now, waiting for him to react.

He ignores it. “Where are the others?” He flips through the channels, raising an eyebrow as he pauses on some show about the Kardashians. He has heard of them, doesn’t know exactly what they do but according to Nat, no one knows how they became famous, so he doesn’t feel left out.

“Clint is out, Stark is still sleeping and Banner is in the lab.” She says, reaching over for the cup, distracted, tilting it back to take a sip only to pull it back and look down at it. He can see from this angle, since she is facing the TV, that her cup is empty.

He snorts a bit and she looks over her shoulder at him. Her eyes narrow as they jump up and down his body, and she sets her cup and book back on the table. She sits properly on the armchair and leans back, crossing one leg over the other and then setting a dainty hand on her thigh, her other drumming on her palm. He just looks straight ahead at the TV, waiting for her to talk. With Natasha, it is better to let her ask the questions and she definitely has some now.

“How’s Stark?” She wonders and his brows furrow, gaze going to her as he rests the remote on the couch next to him, stopping at some random channel.

“How should I know?”

She shrugs. “You and him have been very buddy-buddy with each other the past few weeks.”

He rests his right elbow on the arm of the sofa and sits a bit more sideways, so that he can look at her, curling his legs beneath him. “Buddy-buddy?”

“Pals, friends, comrades, whatever.” Her fingers stop their drumming. “You haven’t slept with him, have you?”

He nearly chokes on his own saliva. “Nat!” he exclaims, his left hand drifting to his bump. His girl moves and runs his thumb over the place she kicked. “I’m pregnant.”

“So?” She shrugs again and raises an auburn eyebrow.

“So, I’m not going to sleep with Tony. I don’t _want_ to sleep with Tony.” Maybe he did just a tiny bit but he is sure that that is just the hormones surging through his body.

“You sure? I heard that pregnant people get a huge sex drive.” She says lightly as if she is talking about the weather. “Besides, yesterday you too seemed pretty close. Nearly kissed.”

“I’ve never kissed Tony.” He insists and she nods.

“I know. But do you _want_ to kiss Tony?”

His mouth opens and closes for a while, because he can’t lie to save his lie and this is the Black Widow. She can smell bullshit a mile away. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

She grins. “You really want to kiss him.”

“I don’t what I want.” He admits and then sighs. “Sometimes I want to kiss him, but when I do I feel so guilty. Like I’m betraying Bucky or something.” His wedding ring catches the light when he drifts his hand a bit lower and her eyes go to his fingers.

She obviously didn’t expect the honesty, thinking that they were sticking with their banter. “Do you want to kiss Tony all the time?”

“No.” He doesn’t. It’s only when they are having one of their moments. It is nice and simple but then he thinks about actually kissing Tony and feels like he probably wouldn’t enjoy it. Not because of lack of practice but because of the simple fact that Tony isn’t Bucky. He doesn’t have Bucky’s hair, or eyes, or his smile, or his way of making Steve feel like he is on top of the world with every glance and every touch and every word.

Tony isn’t Bucky and that makes Steve not want to kiss Tony. But then Tony is sweet and he treats Steve right and the Omega gets the urge to just devour him. It’s probably the hormones.

“You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

He looks at her, trapped again his own thoughts. “What?”

“You have to kiss him.” She then clarifies when he looks confused. “If only to make sure that what you are feeling is just momentary. That you won’t fall in love with Tony. So, just kiss him and then you’ll know.” She waves a hand at her book. “They always talk about a tingling or fireworks. Go see if you have fireworks with Tony.”

He mulls it over in his head and nods slowly. “That’s actually a good idea.”

She nods. “I’m full of good ideas, Rogers.” Then she says. “Nice ring, by the way.”

He looks at it and instead of saying some heartfelt quote, he cracks a joke. “You only like it because it’s shiny.”

“I like shiny things.” She agrees. “My jewels, my knives and my Bites.” She sends him a shark’s grin and simply says. “Stark.”

“What?” He asks and looks over his shoulder to see Tony coming through, still half asleep and wearing the same crumpled clothes he had on last night. He takes five steps only to collapse next to Steve on the couch, turned on his stomach and with his head buried in the cushion.

He sighs and whines. “Get me coffee.”

“Get up and get your own.” Steve says, shifting a bit so that he can sit properly. Tony takes that as an invitation and rests his forehead on Steve’s thigh. Or the remaining of his thigh that isn’t occupied by his bump.

Steve rolls his eyes and looks down at Tony’s wild hair and sleepy eyes and gets that urge to kiss him again.

Natasha gets up and grabs her cup. “I’ll get you coffee, Stark.”

She disappears through the door, as silent as a cat. Tony lifts his head and squints up at Steve.

“She was nice to me.”

Steve nods, face twisting into faux sympathy. “You’re probably going to die in your sleep tonight.”

Tony huffs and lets his head drop again. Steve looks at him for a while, heart hammering in his chest as he remembers what Nat said. She probably left so that he could kiss Tony right now. Can he kiss Tony right now?

There is silence for a few moments but Steve gathers up his courage. He never backed down from a fight. He won’t start now.

“Hey, Tony,” he calls and the Alpha lifts his head again. “Can you sit up straight?” He is going to do this properly. Tony complies with a suspicious look, settling himself so that he is sitting just like Steve.

“What is it?” Tony asks and Steve doesn’t waste any time. He moves in and locks his lips over Tony’s. It is like he imagined, from the taste of coffee (has Tony even had coffee this morning?), to the slightly chapped lips, to the feeling of his goatee scrapping Steve’s chin.

Except… There are no fireworks, no tingling sensation, no chills running up his spine. There is nothing. It’s just a plain ole kiss. He pulls back at that and licks his lip, reopening his eyes.

Tony is staring at him with something in his eyes. Steve realizes that he never considered Tony’s feelings. He just wanted to see if there was a spark but never thought about the possibility that the Alpha might feel something for him. But he doesn’t, does he?

“No fireworks.” Tony ends up saying and Steve’s eyes widen.

“No fireworks.” He echoes and twists his ring. He doesn’t feel that sense of guilt curling in his stomach. Maybe he just thought he’d feel guilty because he thought that he had feelings for Tony. But with that kiss – everything just evaporated. All that want and the desire. It’s like someone took them and tossed them away.

“That’s a disappointment.” Tony remarks and Steve grins.

“Really?”

“You’re Captain America. To say that you have slept with Captain America, that’s like the Holy Grail of bragging. Super sex with a super soldier.” Tony is looking at something over Steve’s shoulder with a far-away look on his face and a dopey smile on his lips.

“Are you picturing having sex with me?” Steve is almost too afraid to ask but he has to know.

“Of course not.” Tony seems offended but there is mirth in her eyes and Steve rolls his own.

Then he sobers up and sighs. “Did you feel anything?”

Tony shakes his head, leaning back on the couch. “I thought I would. But there’s nothing. I guess it was just that attraction of the moment, nothing else.”

Steve nods. “I agree.” He turns his head. “We’re still…” Friends? Is he Tony’s friend? Does Tony consider him a friend?

The Alpha nods. “Of course, we’re friends.” Steve smiles, relieved, and they sit in silence for a while until Tony suddenly leans over. “I don’t think Romanoff is going to bring me my coffee.”

Steve chuckles and Tony braces his hands on the couch to heave himself up, but he accidently pressed a button on the remote and the channel changes. Steve freezes once he gets an eyeful of the news. It’s from yesterday. There is a footage of Iron Man touching down on the street in all its red and golden glory.

The woman is saying, “Is Tony Stark in a relationship? Yesterday, after the Hulk’s attack on Times Square—” She says attack as if he destroyed anything other than a few cars, “—Iron Man came to the rescue and was passionately embrace by the blond on the scene, who managed to calm down the Hulk.” There is a photo on one side of the TV of Steve and Tony hugging. They can see everything from his face to his bump to his ring, which shines in the light of the cameras. “Apparently, not only is Bachelor Nº1 in a relationship, he seems to be on his way to becoming a family man, from the wedding to the baby.” The picture is enhanced to show case both. “The mysterious Omega that Mr. Stark was hugging seems to be awfully young and well into his pregnancy. You can find out more about this scandalous affair tonight on our new segment—”

Steve mutes the TV just so he won’t have to listen to that anymore. He sees that Tony is already dialing someone on his phone and leaving the couch, when the elevator slides open. He realizes that he is dressed in joggers and a sweatshirt but he doesn’t have time to say anything when Miss Potts, Natasha and Bruce pile out. Tony notices them and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“Pep, did you see?”

She nods, a few pieces of hair escaping from their tight hold at the base of her skull. “Yes. They don’t seem to know who Steve is which is good but we can’t let this get out of hand.”

They come back to the couch, Tony sitting next to Steve and Bruce next to him, while Pepper remains standing in front of the three men. Steve seems that Nat is back on her armchair, legs tucked beneath her body and her eyes meet his. He nods, indicating that he kissed Tony, and when she raises an eyebrow, he shakes his head, making a face, saying that he didn’t feel anything. She seems a bit pleased with the information and then relaxes back on the cushion, the two of them turning back to Pepper.

“There is a possibility that they will discover your identity.” The Beta is saying, sounding apologetic. “During the battle of New York, you lost your mask and there are a lot of photos out there with your face.”

“But you can’t see anything in those photos. They’re too far away or too blurry to notice that it is me.” He knows this because he spent a chunk of his free time going through the pictures. There is none of them that show is face clearly and the people that he interacted with probably don’t remember him very well.

“Then that’s good. No one knows that you are the pregnant Omega that hugged Iron Man and controlled the Hulk.” Pepper is obviously content with this and she continuous. “But there are still a lot of rumors going on about you, Tony. I think we should do a press conference. Just to clear out that you aren’t in fact engaged or a father-to-be to a younger Omega.”

“Okay, I’m not that old.” Tony comments, offended. The jabs about the age difference between him and Steve are being internalized. “And Cap is not that young. So, let’s drop the age quips.”

Bruce is hiding a smile behind his hand but he still says. “Pepper is right. You don’t need another scandal hanging on top of your head. You have enough.” He turns to Steve. “Thanks by the way. For the whole…” he waves a hand vaguely to the TV and Steve smiles, nods.

“Anytime.” He can see from the looseness of Bruce’s shoulders and the way he sees to be smiling more, his posture infinitely relaxed, that Betty must have arrived already. Well, that and the love bite on his neck that was hidden by his button-down just enough that if you weren’t paying attention you wouldn’t notice.

Tony sighs as if that is the one thing he wishes he didn’t have to do. “Fine. Pep can you do that?”

She nods. “Sure but it would be better if you did it.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like the press, or conferences. You do it. I have complete faith in you.” Then he looks at Natasha. “Where is my coffee?” She raises an eyebrow and points in the direction of the kitchen. Tony sighs again. “C’mon, Brucey Bear, let’s get brain juice and then bail. I have something cool to show you.”

The two geniuses disappear through the door and Pepper’s phone rings. She quickly reassures Steve that she will get a handle on the situation and will handle the press conference. He nods, wanting to ask if she needs help but knowing better, and she steps out, the sound of her heels clicking echoing through the room.

He and Natasha are once again left alone. Steve sits back on the couch. So much has happened and he has only been awake for about two hours.

“Let’s watch a movie.” Nat suggests and moves to crash next to Steve on the sofa.

“Like what?” He asks, thankful for the distraction.

“Star Wars.” She immediately says and his brows furrow.

“Is that the one with the wizard boy or with the guy with the pointy ears?” He asks, just to see her face fall.

“Someone has to educate you quickly.” She comments. “That was so sad.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” He protests and she snorts, ordering JARVIS to put the movie on.

He will never admit that he actually knows what Star Wars is about and just said those things to watch the expression of horror on her face.

It was worth it.

* * *

[2nd December 2012 – 33 weeks]

Steve nearly cries when he sees it.

It has been three months since Times Square, since his failed kiss with Tony, since he went on leave, since he saw his daughter for the first time, since he heard her heart beat. It’s been five months since he discovered he was pregnant, since he went on that mission and everything changed. It’s been seven months since the Battle of New York, since the formation of the Avengers. It’s been eight months since he was woken from the ice, pulled from his icy coffin and thrusted into the 21st century.

It’s been nine months since he last saw Bucky, since he last time he heard his voice or saw his face or touched his skin or smelled his scent. Nine months of being away from his love, his soulmate. The most terrible nine months of Steve’s life, broken only by his baby and all the wonderful things he sure she is going to bring. Still, he can’t help but think about Bucky constantly. His opinion on things of this century or his thoughts on their child. They plague Steve. Would Bucky like the color he used to paint the nursery? Would he be happy having a girl? What about having an Omega? Would he enjoy cronuts? The simplest, silliest things are the ones that make Steve want to scream sometimes.

So, it’s been nine months exactly, since Bucky fell, on March 2nd 1945.

Steve thought about what he could do today. Maybe stay home and hear old songs, maybe visit Gabe, maybe watch a movie with Natasha or hang out with Bruce. But none of them felt right. After a while of thinking, he decided on it.

And here he is.

The grounds of the Brooklyn cemetery are littered with the crisp, white snow. It is everywhere, covering this dark place with some light, some brightness. He walks a bit slower than usual, careful not to trip or anything as he makes his way to Bucky’s grave. He isn’t sure where it is but he knows where Bucky’s sister, little Grace, was buried after she died prematurely back in the late 20s, and he assumes that Bucky would be buried with his family. Well, not Bucky. Just an empty casket.

He finally gets there and notices that his parents (he is sure that the Rogers’ weren’t buried here originally but the day his mother died is a blur) are there as well, a bit to the left while the Barnes’ are more to the right. They are almost separated, the two families, except for one grave that stands in the middle of them. It is taller, in white and he goes to read it.

He nearly cries when he sees it.

It’s not just Bucky’s grave. It’s their grave. Their shared headstone. _‘Till the end of the line_ , it read after their names, dates of birth and of death. Tears spring to his eyes, quick and unforgiving, the holes in his heart gaping open, wide and hollow. His chest is tight and his lower lip trembles and he is shaking with the pain and the sorrow and the despair. Bucky is really dead. Steve knows but there has always been a little ball of hope in his chest that made him think that maybe Bucky had survived. But coming here, seeing the grave and the headstone – it just makes everything real.

His husband is dead and his child will never know her father. God, his baby will never meet Bucky, will forever wonder what he was like and what traits she gets from him and which she gets from Steve. She will never know.

A gust of cold wind slams into him, chilling him to his core and he shivers, tightening his jacket around him and rolling his shoulder up. Even with the heavy coat and the gloves and the beanie (that’s what Natasha called it), he is still able to feel the ice on his body. It brings back memories he would rather not dull on.

Just as he is about to leave, a voice calls. It’s terribly familiar, like an old shirt being put on again and Steve can barely believe it.

But it is.

“Steve?” Rebecca Barnes asks, standing there in all her glory.

He stares and doesn’t do much else.

*

Rebecca – _Becca_ – Bucky’s little sister, is 83. She isn’t Rebecca Barnes anymore, but Rebecca Proctor. He can hardly believe it. She has grown so much.

They go to a little cafe, which is almost deserted and both order tea. They sit down on the table and he stares at her a bit more. He just can’t help himself.

“Steve, get that stupid look off your face.” She chastises. “I know I’m old.”

“You look great.” He insists. “It’s just that last time I saw you, you were nine. You and Lizzie.” Elizabeth, Rebecca’s younger twin and Bucky’s third sister. “Now you’re a woman.” _It’s been seventy years_ , he thinks. Seventy years’ worth of memories and holidays and birthdays and events that he missed.

She smiles but lets the conversation drop, instead asking him. “How are you?” He takes a sip of his tea and she waits patiently for him to answer. God, with that look on her face, she looks so much like Mrs. Barnes it’s uncanny. From the curled hair to the chin to the sharp eyes. Both her and Lizzie. Bucky was more like Mr. Barnes, even if he had his mother’s cheekbones.

“I’m…” he hesitates before he lets a lie slip. This is Becca, he can’t lie to her. “As good as I can. It’s been hard but…”

“You’re tough,” she finished with a grin.

“I guess.” He says and sighs, his mother’s voice echoing in his head. _You have the heart of a lion, my sunshine boy._ Images of her bruised face and bleeding lip and the pain in her eyes flash through his eyes. _Listen to me close, Steve… You always stand up_. He blinks and they disappear. He turns back to Becca. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Old with two kids and four grandchildren.”

He smiles a bit, even if he feels his stomach dropping when he realizes that Bucky never met his nephews and nieces. “That’s great, Becks.”

“No one has called me Becks, or even Becca, in a long time.” She comments, taking a sip of her tea. “But let’s not talk about that.” He knows what she is going to say next before she says it. “What about that?” she gestures to his belly and he sets a hand there.

In the warmth of café, he had removed his jacket, leaving him in a black sweatshirt. While the color offered some discretion, it is impossible to not notice how pregnant he is.

“I’m pregnant.” He says rather stupidly but he has to start somewhere. She thankfully doesn’t interrupt him. “Found out a few months after being thawed out. Turns out that the serum helped the embryo survive the temperature in the Arctic.”

She nods. “Am I finally going to be an aunt?”

He chuckles, a bit startled at the question. “I thought Lizzie had kids.”

“Lizzie isn’t even married. That girl found a good Beta and has been with her ever since.”

“That’s great.” He says. “And yes, you will be an aunt.” It’s strange to think that Bucky’s baby sister is going to be an aunt at 83.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Becca asks.

“A girl.” The baby kicks then as if realizing they were talking about her and he sweeps his hand over the bump.

Becca’s hand is shaking when she reaches up to wipe away the tears. “Bucky would be thrilled if he were here. He has always wanted to have a girl.” Steve nods, sniffling and blinking away his own tears. “After you two disappeared, it was rough. Ma was always crying and months after the war ended when we got the news that Bucky was dead and not missing, we weren’t surprised. We knew.” She points out to the cemetery. “It was Pop’s idea to arrange a joint headstone. He figured that you guys would want to be together.”

“Your Pop was a sap.” Steve comments. Mr. Barnes had defied every single Alpha stereotype even during those times. He had been so sweet and so gentle, even for a man his size, with a deep voice and a fatherly aura around him. Steve had always felt safe around the Barnes’, from Winifred’s stern but loving parenting to George’s caring nature, Lizzie and Becca’s little feet pattering against the wood boards of the house as they ran around, giggling and screaming, and Bucky’s ability to make him feel like he was the best person in the world. The Barnes’ were a great family and he is sure that they still are.

“He was.” Becca agrees, a wistful look on her face and she remembers her beloved father. She gives him a sad smile and continues. “Anyway, we made the headstone and buried an empty coffin. For years, I tried to find out what happened. I even talked to Margaret Carter about Bucky, but she didn’t tell me much. Just that they hadn’t found his body.” Steve didn’t know that Becca had talked to Peggy. “I tried to tract down your old unit but I didn’t know their names. I got some closure, I guess. We all did. We learned to deal with it. But now you’re back and I feel like I have the right to know how my brother died.”

He agrees, so he tells her. He doesn’t delve much into HYDRA but he explains the mission in the train lightly. He tells her everything and midway through realizes that this is the first time that he has talked about this so openly. Once he is done, he also mentions that he crashed a plane full of bombs into the ocean. By the end of the story, neither of them have tea and Steve has had to stop a few times so he wouldn’t start balling his eyes out in the middle of the café. Becca has had to wipe her cheeks a few times, especially in the part where he falls, the part that Steve got choked on.

He leans back on his chair, his back already starting to ache just the slightest and the silence between them is long. Finally, she asks, “Are you happy?”

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly and she nods. He can see that she wants to go on, wants to ask him for more in that typical Barnes way but she doesn’t and he is grateful.

“When are you due?”

“January 20th. I’m eight months along. Thirty-three weeks.”

She smiles. “That baby will bring you so much joy, Steve. I’m sure of it.”

He is sure of it, too. He can feel it in his bones. But he doesn’t feel like talking about this anymore, the ice in his heart growing as they discuss Bucky and all that he has lost.

“So, did you become an astronaut like you wanted?” He asks and she chuckles.

“No. No. I became a cardiothoracic surgeon.”

“Fancy.” Steve says and waves a hand. “C’mon. I want to know everything.”

She talks about school, college, her first love and her first heartbreak. Why she chose medicine (he is a bit emotional when he finds out that he is one of the reasons, his multiple illnesses making her want to work to find a cure for them), how she met her husband. Their wedding and the birth of her children – twins, two Alpha boys like her brother. She tells him everything, slipping in some cultural information like the landing on the moon and the fall of the Berlin Wall.

He is happy to just sit and listen to her, laughing when she tells some of her and Lizzie’s crazy adventures. He feels normal for a few hours and that is good enough for him.

* * *

[6th January 2013 – 38 weeks]

[05h00]

There is nothing around. Nothing. Just darkness stretching and ending where he can’t see. An endless void.

And he is in the middle of it.

He is stretched in a gurney, his feet in stirrups and his clothes replaced with a hospital gown. He can’t feel anything below his waist and his head is fuzzy. Through the haze he hears voices. Russian. He hears them but he can’t understand them even though he knows the language. A doctor with a medical uniform and a mask is standing between his spread legs. Then he gets it. His baby. They are taking his baby. There are hands all over him, pulling and stretching, hurting him. A baby cries in the distance, shrill and alarming. He wants to get up but he can’t, he can’t.

Somewhere behind him there is the sound of electricity crackling right before it zaps into his brain. He screams.

Steve jerks awake, bolting upright. He gasps for air, heart hammering in his chest and his hands shaking as he tries to keep the room from spinning more. He instantly presses his back to the headboard and closes his eyes. He counts to ten, then backwards, takes a deep breath, lets it out, and repeats the process three times. By the end, he is slumped, fingers gripping his sheets tightly.

Suddenly, pain arches through his torso, belly and back and hips flaring as the wave assaults out of nowhere. It isn’t very intense or sharp, disappearing after a few moments. It’s just pain, mild and aching, like the feeling he used to get when he walked too long and his muscles cramped up. This is just like that. A cramp. Realization dons on him though. Not a cramp.

A contraction. But he still has two more weeks to go.

Panic surges through his body but he can’t let it consume him. So, he gets a clear head and thinks. He read (somewhere in his collection of baby books and internet sources) that there are two stages of labor. He is probably in early labor, which is characterized by moderate contractions that last about thirty seconds and come in regular intervals. So, he glances at the bedside table – 5 AM. And he waits. When the next contraction hits, it’s been about twenty minutes since the last one. He breathes through it and counts that it lasts exactly thirty seconds.

He knows he can’t do anything and has to wait until he moves to active labor to really become concerned. So, he decides to get up and go about his day. There is no reason to stress right now. He is fine.

He is fine.

*

[14h00]

He is fine until that one contraction hits. It’s long, about sixty seconds and comes only five minutes after the last one. His heartrate goes up as he sweeps a hand over his belly. The contraction has just ended when the clock strikes two and he feels a gush of water down his legs. Looking down, he sees that his lap is soaking wet, the fabric of his sweatpants turning darker. Even the fucking floor is wet. Jesus.

“JARVIS, alert any Avenger in the Tower that my water just broke.” He tells the AI as calmly as can. He has a tight grip on his temper and is immensely grateful for the breathing techniques Nat showed him because he is sure that without them he would be losing his shit right now.

He inhales and exhales as normally as he can, resting his left hand on his bump while his right is resting on his back. God, his spine hurts.

The Avengers barrel into the room like a hurricane with the exception of Clint who is off somewhere – Steve isn’t sure where he is, just that he disappears a lot. They are all talking and Tony seems like he wants cry while Bruce looks calm (thankfully) and Natasha is as cool as usual. She reaches him first, agile as she pressed herself to his side and inspects him.

“We’re going to the hospital.” She decides and they all nod. She pulls out her cellphone and dials someone, stating a Code Red (the hell is a Code Red?) over to whoever was on the other side of the line.

“You feeling okay, Steve?” Bruce asks as he comes closer.

Steve nods, a bit shakily. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“How frequent are the contractions?”

“Five minutes apart and they last about a minute each.”

Just as Steve says it, another contraction hits. This is one is just as painful as the last, like someone is taking Steve’s insides and squeezing them through a meat grinder. There is a pressure in his hips that evaporates when the contraction eases and his lower back is aching something fierce. Steve breathes through it, making sure to inhale long and deep and exhaling in the same fashion. He can do this.

Natasha ends her call and returns to his side. “Hill will be here in thirty minutes.”

And so, they wait. The Avengers insist that Steve should sit down and sets himself on the couch, leaning his back against it and closing his eyes. His left hand is almost permanently attached to his bump, almost feeling his baby in there. Just a few hours and she will be out. He can hardly think straight but he can imagine it. She will be beautiful. His light.

Maria Hill arrives in a black SUV with tinted windows and bulletproof glass, a whole federal escort with her. Apparently, Fury had arranged this and ‘Code Red’ was the term assigned to Steve’s labor. It is sweet in a very Fury-like way. They drive to St. Luke’s, Hill on the wheel, Tony next to her, Nat on one of Steve’s side and Bruce on his other.

Steve remembers that he packed a bag to bring to the hospital a little too late but Natasha apparently remembered it and brought it with her (when had she left his side to go get it?). The ride to the hospital lasts fifteen minutes with the federal escort. Once there, it takes another fifteen for Maria Hill to clear a whole hospital floor, which is only possible since she already had a game plan, having triple checked the doctors’ backgrounds and getting them on stand-by. He has to admit that she is nothing but efficient in her work.

Once only secured personnel (the Avengers, Hill, the medical staff necessary and the bodyguards, big guys with guns strapped to them and dressed in Kevlar) is cleared, Steve is settled in his private room. Tony insisted on it. He changes into a gown that ties on the front like a bath robe and sits down on his bed. With all the enthusiasm of getting to the hospital, it’s been already an hour since he went into active labor and his contraction are still the same.

Dr. Wilson, God bless her soul, comes by and does an ultrasound. She hooks him up to a cardiotocograph that is attached to his belly, hidden by the gown and a pulse oximeter is clipped onto his left index finger. She informs him that he is still six centimeters dilated, so things might take a while, but the cardiotocograph is only there to see the baby’s heartbeat and check for signs of fetal distress. The good doctor leaves after explaining everything and how things would go.

And Steve remains in bed with Natasha siting on the chair to his right, the sun streaming in through the window behind her, her hair lighting up like a ruby and shinning reds and golds and oranges. On the wall opposite to that, there is a door that leads to a private bathroom and directly in front of Steve is the entrance of the room. It’s nice, painted with soft colors and a sweet scent to the air. Comfortable.

So, he settles in, breathes through a contraction and waits.

Just waits.

*

[18h00]

Steve feels like he is going crazy.

He has been like this for a little over four hours and no baby yet. He has dilated exactly three centimeters since the last time they checked and he feels his self-control trembling inside him. His contractions are also closer to each other, about three minutes now as opposed to the five minutes it took four hours ago. Is every birth like this or is his just special? He was hoping that with the serum it would be easier but he obviously wasn’t right.

He huffs out a breath and squirms slightly, trying to find a good position that doesn’t kill his back or make his pelvis feel like it might crack under the force. Next to him, Natasha smirks at his obvious discomfort. She is the only one there. Once they hit the two-hour mark and there was no baby, Steve told Tony and Bruce that they should go home. They protested at first but Steve promised to call them when the baby was closer to be born.

“You okay, Rogers?” she asks lightly, resting her feet on his bed and rolling her shoulders back. He huffs again and rolls onto his right side so that he faces her. He is surprised to find that this position is the best since it doesn’t put pressure on his back, belly or hips which is the best right now.

“No, I’m not okay.” He bites out, anger flushing inside of him and she raises an eyebrow. “I just want to get out of here. I hate hospitals.” He says the last part more softly, so she can’t hear.

Honestly, he has spent so much time in hospitals and clinics that he has had his fair share of them to last a lifetime. With his countless illnesses, he was in the hospital so much he pratically lived in it. His mother was the same, being a nurse and occasional midwife. Eventually, it was there that she caught tuberculosis and ended up passing away. Worked so much to pay their bills and his medicine that the prolonged exposure to the disease caused her to die.

So, yeah, he doesn’t like hospitals. Never has and probably never will.

Natasha notices his turmoil but doesn’t comment. She is probably storing that information away for later. She can be devious like that.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do once you leave here?” She asks him instead and it actually takes him a minute to understand her since another contraction has wrecked his body. He hisses and tightens the grip he has on the metal bars along the bed, breathing as much as he can. The machine on his left side is tracking the contraction and it eventually passes.

He slumps a bit on the mattress. “A shot of vodka.” He says lowly, left hand curling on his bump. It is the only thing he can remember and there is probably something more important but it is the first thing that comes to mind.

“Really?” There is a note of surprise on Natasha’s voice.

“Yes. I miss drinking vodka.” He admits, and then adds. “Like really fucking miss it.” He is getting tired and as such is running his tongue a bit.

She gives a smile when she hears the curse. “So, you drink, you swear. Not exactly America’s golden boy.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “People make assumptions about me. They think I don’t swear, drink, have sex, that I’m patriotic to the core, that I’m conservative, that I discriminate people based on their race, gender, dynamic, religion, sexual orientation and even on the country they were born in.” He is disgusted just thinking about it. “They think Captain America does all those things. But while they might think that Cap does, Steve Rogers certainly doesn’t.” He will break the rules and ignore commands if it means that he can save more people; Cap, as people think of him, might not do that. Another contraction – breath in, breath out, squeeze hand, stop.

She gets it. “Cap can’t exist without Steve Rogers but Steve Rogers can exist without Cap.” She says as if she has just discovered a whole new side of him.

He nods. “Exactly. I’m just a normal person. I’m open minded, I accept new things. I love America but I’m not blind to its flaws. Senator Brandt gave me the name Captain America; I didn’t chose it. Cap is Steve but Steve isn’t just Cap. I think you understand the most.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow and he continues. “Black Widow is Natasha but Natasha isn’t just Black Widow.”

She is silent, observing him and internalizing what he just said. She settles on a, “Good one, Rogers.”

And he smiles. “Thanks, Romanoff.”

*

[21h55]

Almost eight hours and nothing. Steve is seriously at his wits end. The contractions are closer than ever, just two minutes separating them, each lasting about sixty seconds. He is sure that the baby will be born soon but with every tick of the clock, he feels his hope waning. He just wants this baby out.

He does have to hand it to Natasha though. She has been by his side since he came to the hospital and hasn’t left since. At first, she had been a bit hesitant to help him but now she is leaning forward with her elbow braced on the bed. His right hand is fisted in the sheets, since he refused to grip her hand, scared to hurt her. She hadn’t been offended, instead starting to understand that he didn’t think less of her for being a woman, didn’t take her hand because he was sure she couldn’t handle it. He just genuinely didn’t want to warm her in anyway, never wanted to see her suffer.

He shifts a bit as a contraction hits, curling on himself as pain radiates up his back and through his hips. This one is different from the others, more intense and definitely more painful. Something is wrong.

“Can you go get Dr. Wilson?” he asks Natasha and she nods.

“I’m going.” She is up and out the door in a second. Steve breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. His left hand, still cradling his bump, sweeps over the hard ball of it.

Dr. Wilson arrives then, a few nurses and Natasha behind her. Steve positions himself so that he is lying on his back and spreads his legs. He hasn’t spread his legs this much in a day since he was a teenager and Bucky was insatiable. The thought almost makes him snort but he swallows it down. Dr. Wilson feels around and he hides his discomfort by grimacing at the contraction and not at the feel of latex.

“Steve, this is it.” Dr. Wilson says as she removes her hand and grips his ankle with the other. “You are fully dilated and your contractions are very close. You’re ready.”

He looks at her dumbly for a few moments before stuttering, “W-What?”

She smiles serenely, and the clock on the wall behind her strikes ten ( _eight hours_ ). “Your baby is coming.”

His eyes widen. He knows that this would eventually happen and has been bitching and moaning about it for hours, but now it’s so real, almost tangible and he feels his anxiety crawling his throat. He gasps a breath and the beeping of his heart monitor speeds up a bit.

While the nurses and Dr. Wilson get ready, Natasha fits her hand in his and says, “You can do this, Steve.” Then in an uncharacteristic show of tenderness, she leans down to lightly kiss his forehead. “ _Udachi,_ Stepushka. (Good luck, Stepushka.)” She gives him that – real – smile again, the one that curls one corner of her mouth and pushes the other back, and leaves the room, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll call Stark and Banner.”

He had told her before that he wanted to be alone during the delivery. He feels like he needs to do this by himself, since Bucky can’t be here. So, Steve won’t have anyone else with him if Bucky can’t. It might sound stupid but he has to do this. Has to prove to himself that he can take care of this baby and the first way to do that is to deliver her alone. When he thinks about it, it sounds insane but then he thinks of the Avengers witnessing something that private and balks. It is enough that Tony went to his appointment with him (he honestly has no idea what he was thinking), he doesn’t need them to see the birth of his daughter.

He focuses back on the present when a contraction hits again. Someone rises his bed so that he is in a nearly sitting position with his knees bent. He feels exposed like this, bare for everyone to see. He is vulnerable and he hates every second of it. But his baby is coming and he will endure anything for her.

“Alright, Steve,” Dr. Wilson is positioned between his legs, wearing medical scrubs and gloves. Her eyes are calm and her face is relaxed. “I want you to take a deep breath in the beginning of a contraction, hold it and push while the nurse—” she points to the woman behind her with dark hair and a friendly face, “—counts to ten. Then another breath and we repeat the process. Got it?”

He nods, swallowing thickly. That doesn’t sound too hard. She smiles encouragingly, and turns her eyes to the cardiotocograph machine, waiting for the next contraction. “Ready?”

He nods again and when the contraction hits, he does as he was told – takes a deep breath, holds it, pushes and listen to the count of ten. At the end, he does it again, and then another time. When the contraction passes, he has done the process three times. It goes on for a while. Contraction, deep breath, hold it, push, count to ten. Repeats it three times every contraction.

It is incredibly wearing. He is flushed already, sweat beading on his forehead and the back of his neck. If he didn’t have the serum, he is sure that his legs would be all cramped up and his back hurts like hell as it is. After a contraction passes, he looks at the clock and sees that it has been ten minutes since he went into labor. Jesus, ten minutes of pushing.

In the brief moments of rest, he looks at the door of the room and freezes. Bucky is there, dressed in his brown Army uniform, pressed and clean, not a wrinkle in sight. His hair is slicked back and his shoes are shining in the light. He looks so handsome, grin on his face and grey eyes twinkling. He simply stands there. Doesn’t move or talk. He is just there and Steve simply stares at him. It isn’t real. He knows it isn’t real but the image tugs at his heartstrings and tears pool in his eyes. He misses Bucky so much, sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with himself. So, he looks. Looks and looks as much as he can. Bucky’s grin widens to a smile and nods, so sure of himself, his faith and his love in Steve shining through. He is here. His husband.

Then a contraction hits and Steve refocuses. He pushes, as hard as he can, holding it the breath, thankful that the serum gave him healthy lungs, but feeling like his pelvis might shatter with the force. He does it again, and again.

“Okay, she’s crowning.” Dr. Wilson says, looking down. “Just one more, a big push now.”

The contraction, hopefully the final one, is stronger than the rest. He breaths in deeply, holds it, pushes, listens to the nurse counting to ten, and then repeats it. One the last process, he pushes down as much as possible, and can’t help the grunt that escapes through his clenched teeth, fingers tightening on the sheet below him so much he is genuinely surprised that it doesn’t tear.

He slumps back on the bed, closes his eyes as he fights to control his breathing and hears a loud, shrill cry. He looks up and sees Dr. Wilson holding a small, pink, squirming little thing in her arms.

His baby.

The same nurse who was counting has a standard white cloth and his little girl is wrapped in it. Dr. Wilson then walks to his side and hands her to him.

“Congratulations,” She says, a little smile on her face as she watches him take his daughter.

She is nearly nothing in his arms, her weight pratically non-existing, but he holds her close to his chest. Her little eyes are closed, hands clenched into fists and her cries die down a bit when she is in physical contact with him. She is so beautiful. His silver lining. His light.

He chokes on a sob, trailing his finger through her smooth palm and she immediately latches onto the tip of his digit. Then she opens her eyes, large and that almost-unnatural blue that is common in newborns. She has a fine layer of hair so blond it is nearly unnoticeable against her flushed skin. He smiles and she watches him carefully, their eyes meeting for the first time.

He looks up to the door of the room but Bucky is gone. He wasn’t real. Steve’s smile dies down a bit and he sighs. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. It wasn’t worth it.

“Steve,” Dr. Wilson approaches him. “We are just going to take her to clean her up, check her weight and such.” She removes his baby from his arms and he feels something inside him flare up, dark and possessive. It takes him a moment to realize that Dr. Wilson isn’t the enemy but the nightmare he had this morning is still fresh in his mind.

“It will be quick.” Dr. Wilson assures him and he nods. She smiles. “Good job, soldier.” Then she moves out, holding his baby and he tries to remember that no one is going to take her away. _No one_. Only people with the security clearance are here and there is a guard in every post. He is fine. She is fine.

They are fine.

*

[23h50]

“She’s gorgeous, Steve.”

Steve smiles at Bruce. “She is, isn’t she?”

Tony and Bruce had arrived to the hospital just shortly after the birth, the three Avengers sitting in the waiting room until Steve was up for visitors. The Omega had cleaned himself up in the private bathroom, taking a much need shower (according to Dr. Wilson, he didn’t need any stitches or anything so he could move around freely). He had stood under the hot water for a while, washing away every trace of the birth from his skin – the fluids and the sweat and the tears.

He had put on boxers and a new medical gown, shrugging one a large zip-up hoodie to keep him warm. Then he had tried to sleep but found that he couldn’t, so he told the nurse that he wanted to see his team. The Avengers were let in and Steve told them about the birth, leaving out the details, saying that he and the baby were fine (he is pretty sure that she has the serum in her blood but he doesn’t want her to become a test subject, so he doesn’t say anything).

Now, they were standing in front of the large window of the nursery, looking at the group of babies sleeping in their cots (even though the floor was cleared they weren’t going to send away a bunch of newborns). His baby was right on the front row, the third from the right and he only had eyes for her. He still aches from the birth, pain making his muscles tremble and exhaustion is starting to catch up but for now he will ignore it.

“You made a cute looking baby, Cap, I gotta hand it to you.” Tony comments, looking at the baby openly but with some trepidation. Steve figures that this is probably Tony’s first long term contact with a newborn.

“What’s her name?” Natasha wants to know, turning her head away from him. The motion – probably the bounce of her curls and the vibrant color of her hair – attracts his daughter’s attention. Natasha, unlike Tony, stares at her head on, her eyes softer than Steve has ever seen them.

“Sarah,” he says. He hasn’t really thought about a name. It had crossed his mind but between trying to keep his head above the water, dealing with the 21st century and Bucky’s death, planning and arranging other baby stuff like the color to paint the nursery and clothes, toys, a crib, bottles, utensils and a stroller, his head was filled with everything but that issue.

Yet, as he looks at her now, at the curve of her perky nose, the paleness of her skin after that red tone disappeared, the roundness of her eyes and the long fingers, he realizes that she looks like his mother. Well, she looks like him and he bears a strong resemblance to his ma. So, he didn’t think before he says it. Sarah. It’s a good name – strong, just like his mother and he is sure that this baby will be the same as her. Resilient and proud and loyal. Loving and caring and sweet. All in equal parts.

Natasha is still watching the baby, the corner of her mouth pulled slightly back. “That’s a good name.” she breaks the ice by following it with, “Her second name better be Natasha.”

“It is.” He responds and she turns to him sharply, eyes a bit wide. He cracks a grin. “Kidding.” She shakes her head, probably kicking herself for believing him even if it was for a fraction of a second. He decides to change the subject. “Where’s Clint?”

“Emergency.” Natasha doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t pressure even if he is a bit hurt by the archer’s absence. But it isn’t Clint’s fault, so he swallows down his resentment.

“Is she healthy?” Bruce wonders, his head tilted as his eyes roam over Sarah’s little body. They can’t see much; the baby being wrapped up like a burrito in a pink blanket and a pink hat hiding her hair.

Steve nods. “Yes. Completely healthy.” He frowns. “Why?”

Bruce shakes his head flippantly. “Just wondering.” The Beta is hiding something, that much is obvious.

The Omega’s eyes narrow but before he can say anything, the double doors that lead to the corridor they are in burst open and Nick Fury steps through. He is dressed in his usual black attire, dark and mysterious, gun strapped to his thigh.

Tony, of course, had to comment. “If it isn’t One Eyed Willy.” He smirks sardonically.

“Tony.” Steve warns, not wanting to raise tensions. He isn’t in the mood for a fight.

Fury didn’t let it get to him. He never did. “I need to speak to Captain Rogers.” His one eye surveys them all. “Alone.” He emphasizes when no one moves.

Natasha nods at him and looks back at Steve before moving out, probably going to find Maria Hill. Bruce and Tony are more hesitant but they do the same, disappearing through the double doors. Steve turns back to the front and Fury steps up to stand next to him.

“Which one?”

Steve points his index finger. “Front row, the third from the right.”

Fury looks at Sarah and smiles the slights bit, even showing a bit of teeth, stark white against dark skin. “Her existence is not in any SHIELD file. But she will have a birth certificate and that will be linked to your identity.”

When Steve first woke up in this new century, one of the first things Fury did was give him an ID. Apparently, they had calculated his age, gave him an alternate year of birth, and registered him as a citizen of the United States. It must have taken a lot of bribes but Fury had friends in high places. As such, as long as the fact that Cap was his alter ego remains a secret, according to the government he is Steven Grant Barnes (he had made up a story that his husband had died in the war, which wasn’t a lie, and pratically made Fury get him that name – he is married after all, no matter what, he just uses Rogers because he is used to it), a normal man living in America. They had faked a backstory, keeping as many common points with his actual back story as much as they could but some things were made up like where he went to school (it doesn’t exist anymore). There were even things they cut out like his one year at art school and his time in the Army, of course.

Sarah would be registered as a normal citizen being born and not the daughter of Captain America. He is grateful for it.

“I know, sir.” Steve nods. “I need some more time off.” He does. He wants to stay with her, even though he knows that his desire to fight and train will only grow with more downtime.

Fury raises an eyebrow. “Good thing you aren’t back on your feet from your injury then.”

Steve shakes his head. “I can’t even keep up with all the lies.”

The Alpha isn’t bothered. Fury lies for a living. “Don’t worry, Captain. Just watch your back.” He extends his hand. Steve clasps it with his. “Be careful. Don’t forget that I got my eye on you.”

The Omega smiles a bit. “Thank you, sir.”

Fury nods once, a quick motion with his head. “Goodnight, kid.”

And then he goes away, as if he had never been there, at the same time that the clock strikes midnight. Steve sighs and looks back at Sarah. She is sleeping, tucked into her blanket, eyes closed, warm and comfortable. He loves her so much and she hasn’t even been in this world for two hours. She almost glows in his eyes, ethereal and holding so much love.

He smiles and watches her a bit more. His silver lining.

His light.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this trash fire of a fic! 
> 
> also, i know no one asked but i made natasha an omega and not an alpha (as is the most popular trope) bc the whole thing with the red room is that women are less imposing than men and thus better for undercover work. so, an omega would be better, since they would be underestimated. thanks for coming to my ted talk.


End file.
